


Ticking Time

by GloriaKStone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Biracial Character, Cannibalism, Crossdressing, Drug Abuse, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Homophobic Language, Implied Relationships, M/M, Multi, Non Canonical, Non-Canon Relationship, Oral Sex, Other, Prison, Prison Culture, Prison Sex, Prostitution, Racism, Racist Language, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Violence, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaKStone/pseuds/GloriaKStone
Summary: When Blaise Zabini left the UK, he left behind a life of prestige and was thrown into criminal chaos. But as he serves his last couple of years in prison, his past and present collide to create an unsure future.





	1. Inmate Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work I never really finished and just decided to finish without edit to the old. I'm going to be doing that with a lot of the fanfiction I post up, so bear with me on mistakes and such.
> 
> This is pretty much non-canon and all Harry Potter characters are in this are in their mid to late twenties. Keep the tags in mind and author's notes in mind. That being said, enjoy!

_“Hold on, love,” he cooed softly, stroking her soft dark cheek as she stared up at him. Her beautiful face was scrunched in pain as it should have been. Instead, she seemed to be at peace as she stared in his hazel eyes. He held on and didn’t close his eyes at the sound of the sirens getting louder. He’d been betrayed. And because he had been stupidly trustworthy, he had gotten his beloved killed._

_“Blaise, are you going to do what wizards do and disappear?”_

_She’d always confused magician with wizard when he’d first shown her the wand. Another rule broken amongst his world. However, he no longer lived in the worlds of wizards and magic. He lived in the world of criminals, money, treachery, and blood. He heard the cops yelling at Phillip. He paid them no mind. He’d take his punishment. No apparating away or oblivating the cops. It didn’t matter much anymore. She was going to die and his last reason for carrying about anything was going to vanish._

_“HANDS UP ZABINI!”_

_He didn’t listen. They could shoot him. He could only answer her. What he told her every time they had an argument or she was teasing him._

_“Wizards don’t disappear, baby,” he told her, sighing deeply and holding her tightly. The blood was starting to cool; sticky and unpleasant between them. If he was alive, he’d make Alvarez pay. He’d pay. He’d be blinded by his revenge, but he was going to make it happen. His lover smiled serenely at him one last. Then, her large brown eyes’ light flickered away and she went limp in his arms. He kissed her on the lips and blinked back tears, shakily waving his hand over her eyes to close them._

_The cop that had been tailing him for five years walked up to him as he continued to hug her._

_“Time to go, Zabini.”_

_He nodded, finally letting her go and raising his hands above his head._

“Get your ass up, Zabini.”

He reluctantly got up, rubbing his face and glaring at the correctional officer. Remembering how it had been before he’d somehow gotten involved with the Muggle criminal underworld, it still perturbed him that he was so ingrained in the prison system that he could sleep so soundly. After the fifth year, he all but forgotten he’d been a pureblood wizard. In San Quentin, he was simply another inmate biding their time before they got out. He took a look at the calendar. In a year, he’d be eligible for probation. He’d been a good boy. Being a pretty boy in prison, no matter what race you were, was never a good thing. At the very least, he never had to worry about the Aryan Brotherhood or Nazi Low-Riders. That was what he had thought when he’d entered.

He was always watching his arse. And he made sure that he kept bulked up to stop himself from falling into it with the wrong crowd. Being noticeably biracial, he wasn’t accepted by Black Guerilla or Wise Guys despite his family connections and associations with the mob before his arrest. It didn’t matter shit to them that he never became a rat. Thankfully, prosecutor was never able to pin any of the murders to him. The cold bastard had even attempted to pin Penelope’s death on him.

As for the Hispanic gangs that might have given him a chance because he could “almost past”, he’d get fucked in the ass before ever groveling to get protection. Quite a few within the prison knew Alvarez and he’d known three weeks in how well they knew him when he was met with a lovely shanking. He’d managed to turn the tables when a particular large prison inmate attempted to make him a bitch. He pulled a disappearing act once he was done smashing his face into the tile, but everyone knew who had done it. It was then he was able to keep to himself without any affiliation.

The only real friend was Phillip Zabini; his squib cousin who was accepted with open arms by the Wise Guys. He didn’t hate him for it. Despite not being accepted himself, sometimes he had the perks without having to get involved with their bullshit.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from doing dirt on the inside. He was after all a criminal. He was going to be thirty soon. And while he was by no means old, he felt too old change after so many years of being caught up in the lifestyle.

It occurred to him what day he was and instead of giving the guard more of a hard time, he smiled brightly at him.

“Brighten up sir, it’s a charming day!”

“Can’t pull it off anymore, Zabini. Your British accent is fading.”

“But your American accent is still lovely as ever.”

“Get to breakfast, smart ass.”

He waltzed to breakfast silently, ignoring the creepy look he got from a particularly ugly fuck named Peter Jones. A great member of the Aryan Brotherhood, he wasn’t the only one who gave him that look from their group. Their leader, Gerald Miles, tended to eye him in the showers when he assumed he wasn’t looking and when the Aryan Brotherhood couldn’t secure it for themselves. Due to Phillip’s connections, he managed to get in good with the Wise Guys to share their shower time when he did some low risk runs for them along the prison.

He met Phillip, who nodded at Carlos Gervani and shook his hand before patting him on the back.

“You’re actually smiling. Looks kind of scary.”

“It hurts, but that’s okay.”

“Oh right. Visiting for the first time with Julia.”

Blaise smiled softly. “Five years old. I can’t believe it’s been five years.”

“Listen, Blaise, I’ve got some good news. Your cooperation with the Wise Guys, plus some help from the family on the outside—they want to initiate you.”

He looked at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”

“I couldn’t believe it either. See, his muggleborn daughter is marrying into the Zabini family. After your mother’s…”

“You can say it,” Blaise replied shortly. His cousin cleared his throat.

“After your mother’s suicide, you know how hard it was for us to get good status in the wizarding world. Well, the Zabini name amongst purebloods has been helped by the union. And your grandfather, in good faith, asked for you be looked after.”

“Phil—“

“Look,” he said, pulling him to the side. “It’s getting heated now. You need association with someone. Besides, I get out in six months. I’m not going to be there for you if you don’t get your parole hearing. You need the help to survive here. And you need to help so that you won’t get deported by the UK and leave Penelope behind.”

“I know that means I have to go back into the family business and I’m not sure I’m up for that.”

“It also means that you can be a wizard. You can go back to Europe; get your Manor back. Don’t you think your daughter deserves her education? Deserves to know what she is?”

He sighed deeply, leaning back so that his head hit the wall. “What happens if I don’t accept?”

“Shit, Blaise. I knew you hated the old man, but do you really him so much you’d fuck up this deal for him?”

“I’m just wondering why my grandfather gives a shit now.”

“You’re his legacy. I know it’s bad with him, Blaise, but he loves you in his own twisted way. You know how our folks are. They don’t know how to love right.”

Blaise lowered his head and was about to say something, until he paused seeing a family pale blonde looking miserable and scowling at the looks he was getting from the prisoners. He’d know that aristocratic face anywhere. He felt as if his heart could stop at seeing him again. What in the fuck…

He looked the same. Even the expression was the same. Phillip followed his glance and his eyes nearly bulged out his head. The gray eyes kept darting around nervously despite the haughty expression. Then they slowly fell on Blaise. At first, he knew that the man probably thought he was hallucinating. Then to his grimace and somewhat surprise Draco ran towards him, embracing him. Fuck, that was nothing no one needed to see in there. Especially someone who looked like the clear definition of what was Aryan there. However, knowing him and how frightened he was, he tentatively returned it.

“Merlin, Zabini, I thought I’d never see a familiar face,” he muttered, pulling away from his reluctantly.

“It’s been ten years, Draco. It’s nice to see you.”

He still smelled good and he grimaced. Damn, his past had to emerge from the depths of his mind. “I know it’s improper, what I just did.”

“Everyone is definitely staring,” Phillip said through his teeth. “Take care of the Malfoy brat. I’ll catch you later.”

“Let’s go eat,” Blaise said softly, motioning him into the cafeteria. Phillip had been accurately. All eyes were on them and on the fresh meat that had entered. He didn’t want to think about having to label Draco as his “bitch”. He had never had the need for it despite the momentary times he’d wanted it. The prisoners that didn’t partake in the system had wives and girlfriends that would give them their visits every so often for that needed release. The last thing he wanted was to see Draco being manhandled by the Aryan brotherhood. They’d tear him to shreds.

They were silent for a while as Draco, being Draco, eyed his cuisine with distaste. “I’m not very hungry.”

“You get used to it. How much time do you have, Draco?”

He looked pained as he thought about it. “I have fifteen months.”

“Bleeding hell—what the fuck did you do to get into San Quentin? Why are you even here? You’re married!”

“How did you know I was married,” he muttered, playing with the food on his plate.

“I kept in contact with mother.”

“I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. “Sorry I didn’t come. She sent the invitation my way.”

“I wanted you to.”

There was more prolonged silence and Blaise was brought back to the last time he was with Draco. It had been after the war and when the Ministry had been threatening the entire Malfoy legacy with time in Azkaban. He himself had been disgraced because he refused to grovel to Voldemort. As a result, things became strained between his mother and his grandfather. To cut their losses and keep their money, his grandfather reached out to Phillips family in New York for aid.

When it was discovered his grandfather helped fund Voldemort’s war, the Zabini’s had been put into a terrible position. Out of fear, his mother begged him to go work with his uncle in New York. He’d been disgusted.

“They’re blood traitors and filthy Muggle criminals!”

“Darling please,” she said with tears brimming in her lovely blue eyes. She held onto his arm as they walked the streets of Diagon Alley.

“I’d rather die—“

“They’ll send you to Azkaban. With the Malfoys. With your lover,” she spat out angrily. He froze and pulled away from her.

“Mum—“

“We haven’t disowned you. We’ve dealt with quite a bit of your defiance. I’ve defended you many times. And the fact that you aren’t of true Italian wizardry purity doesn’t make things any easier.”

So that was it. It always come back to her father. Seven husbands dead and the eighth, his father, the only one to have ever survived their twisted family only to have died from Dragon Pox.  She hadn’t kept any of the children. All of them aborted by wizarding means because they weren’t good enough for his grandfather. However, he’d been kept. That had infuriated Bernardo Zabini. He practically had wizarding Italy under his thumb. To have a biracial grandson; a black boy instead of full-blooded white Italian as if he felt he deserved. His own mother was lucky she’d been able to keep her former husbands’ fortunes.

“I thought you loved me—“

“I do. I love you with all my heart. Just as I loved your father with all my heart. One of the only men who will truly have my heart. Along with you. Which is why I need you do this.”

After a lot of thought, he’d made his decision. Perhaps he’d also done it as a way to find some sort of acceptance from his grandfather. He’d told Draco, who hadn’t understood and who he had had to whisper soft words of love as he buried himself inside of him. Just to let him know that he really didn’t want it. That if he could, he would tell his mother and grandfather to collectively fuck themselves into oblivion. However, family was family amongst them. He’d taken the Floo to the Zabini compound in New York as Draco slept soundly. Days later (after his grandfather screwed him over and "sold" him) he received the owl from his mother congratulating him and informing him of Draco’s engagement to Astoria Greengrass.

He had had to prove himself. Once he was able to get out of his situation, he worked himself up in the ranks from a low life money launderer to one of the main “wise guys” among the ranks in the Alfredi crime family. A position that luckily only landed him ten years with the possibility of parole in six for a list of crimes. They had wanted him to rat out not only them, but his grandfather who had started to make himself well known amongst Muggles/No-Maj.

He’d find out about his mother’s suicide from Phillip. Someone had fed her false information. That it had not been Penelope Waters who’d died on that street riddled with bullets. That a black man by the name of Blaise Zabini with the curious Italian last name had been finally gunned down. He knew well that Alvarez had something to do with it.

Maybe his grandfather had thought it as well. Perhaps in his older age he’d finally decided that he only had Blaise left and if he couldn’t keep his beloved Cristina alive, he’d look after her son the best way he could. As he stared at Draco and thought of his mother, he knew he’d have to accept the offer. It was only for a year inside. Besides, what else was he going to do? Sure, for kicks he got his degree in the Prison University Program for Software Engineering. That was just to show that he gave a shit about being “rehabilitated” but he really didn’t. He was who he was and he wasn’t going to bother changing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come. I wasn’t allowed anyway. Family business.”

“They said you—you’re a gangster,” he whispered. “You're a gangster aren’t you?”

“I like to call myself an associate of a respectable family with unfortunate false allegations,” Blaise replied with a wicked grin that Draco helplessly returned. He laughed after a bit.

“Alright. I’ll give you that.”

Blaise’s amused expression faltered. “Why are you here?”

“You first. Why aren’t you in a Muggle prison in New York?”

“Careful with the Muggle word." Blaise started to push his own leftover food around. "It was an attempt on the Feds—sorry, FBI—to make Phillip and I seem like rats. It’s a common tactic amongst the police and government agencies here. They put us in a terrible predicament. Separated us from known faces and families. It didn’t work.”

“What did—what do they say you did?”

“Grand theft, soliciting—“

“Like prostitution?”

He snorted, not feeling quite hungry anymore either. Cursed by the day when he’d missed the gourmet delight of ramen noodles. “You got. Not me, but supposedly they say I pimped out women. They also accused me of dealing drugs and all kinds of petty shit. All of it added up and I got a ten year sentence.”

Draco paled. “Damn.”

“Yeah. I’m up for parole in a year, however, so I’m hopeful. Now your turn.”

“I was expecting to see Potter and Weasley instead of you.”

Blaise stared at him for a long while before laughing. “What?”

“You heard me. They should be showing up. I heard from my public defender that they were being sentenced—“

“Wait a bloody minute—you’re serious? Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley? The Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?”

“I know it’s hard to believe—“

“It’s impossible to believe.”

“Why would I lie about something like that,” Draco said in annoyance, pounding his fist on the table. A guard came strolling by and Blaise gave him a nervous smile before the guard went away. They were given glares before he returned his attention to something else. He motioned for Draco to follow him and they tossed their plates. He hoped they wouldn’t be approached by anyone. The Aryan Brotherhood had spotted them. They looked at Draco like he was some sort of hot piece of feminine ass. He cursed under his breath.

“Time to give you a tour, old mate,” he said loudly.

Blaise went on to show him the large facility. He was fortunate despite his sentencing that he was a Level I inmate. Being that, he knew he had a better chance of getting parole staying in that position. It was the reason why he tried to stay away from being associated with any group within the prison. It kept him out of trouble and even though he was essentially a caged animal, he was a caged animal with privileges and minimal security detail. It was quite obvious that Draco would be that, so he’d have to find a way to convince him to join programs.

“I have the day off today because I have a visit in about two hours.”

“With who?”

“My daughter and her mother’s sister.”

“I heard you had one with the muggle that got killed. I’m sorry about her.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Blaise couldn’t help himself and whispered in his ear. “Not as much as I loved you.”

He was delighted in seeing that he still had some sort of effect on Draco. His cheeks pinked and he stepped a bit away from Blaise, pretending to be interested by the collection of books in the library. Both of their collections in their childhood home were far more impressive. That brought him to what Draco had said. A public defender—a public defender?! Draco Malfoy, whose family had riches beyond belief, had had to use a public defender?! He looked at him incredulously and led him to where his cell was.

“Am I allowed in here?”

“As long as we don’t start shagging it out like overgrown teenagers,” he said with a grin.

“Do you have a cellmate?”

“I did. He was part of Black Guerilla alliance in here. Got caught trying to rip someone’s innards out. Was put in as a Level IV prisoner.”

“That’s the really unstable and dangerous ones.”

“Apparently. Prison system isn’t perfect. Still quite a few of them here. Maybe I’ll pay off one of the administration and you can be my new cellmate.”

“It’d be like old times at Hogwarts.”

“Much,” Blaise said with a laugh that Draco return, sitting next to him as he reached for the shoebox under the bed. Inside the box was pictures of a pretty little dark skinned girl with blue eyes she’d inherited from his mother. Everything else was him and Penelope. Looking at her, some days, was like looking at Penelope. Pushing back painful memories, he handed it to Draco.

“She’s beautiful, Blaise.”

“Isn’t she?”

“Too bad I can’t come with you.”

“Will you have any visitors?”

Draco’s soft expression hardened and he handed him the box. “My ex-wife is back in Britain. My son is with my mother and father.”

“Draco—“

“Promise not to judge me,” he said, glancing at him nervously.

“I’m not going to judge,” he murmured, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He relaxed from the gesture and he took a deep breath.

“Things aren’t the same in Britain. Kingsley Shacklebolt was supposed to remain as Minister. He didn’t. So a new Minister came and things just became different. Purity doesn’t mean much anymore and I guess for everyone else that’s good, but my reputation made it difficult. So I had to depend on the money from my inheritance.”

“Why do I think Potter and Weasley about to come into play—“

“Potter and I—fucking hell, Blaise, I still can’t believe I’ve been in some sort of sordid affair with Potter. I was getting in bed with some dark wizards that promised to pay me for brewing some black market potions not available elsewhere. Potter and a bunch of his Aurors came busting in. I knew it was over.

“I got desperate, one thing led to another, and I was buggering Harry Potter to stay out of Azkaban.”

Blaise put his hand to his face. “Go on.”

“Astoria found out from someone what was happening and it hit the Daily Prophet. It was madness! Father was furious, Astoria was furious and she didn’t want to have anything to do with our family…or my son,” he finished softly.

“And Potter?”

“He lost his job as an Auror. And of course, my inheritance is gone. Last ditch effort? I came to California to meet up with new contacts to buy my potions. They’d pay more and I’d be able to get enough money to get custody of Scorpius.”

He leaned forward. “Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley followed you to California.”

“No,” Draco said in annoyance. “They didn’t. They just happened to be here. On vacation or something. I guess Weasley was in tough water with his wife and he tagged along with Potter for what reason I don’t fucking know. Maybe they’re shagging each other. I suspected it, but I didn’t care. I just wanted my son and I didn’t care about any of it.

“Somehow I got in bed with some muggleborn drug dealer named Alvarez.”

His blood ran cold at the name. “Was he sentenced too?”

“Yes and good thing. Bastard got twenty-five, I believe.”

His heart started pound in his ear. “Go on.”

“Potter spotted me on the street with Alvarez and we got into an argument. Weasley and Alvarez tried to be the voices of reason, but the people Alvarez was meeting with thought it was some sort of set up. I suspect a couple of white men in South Central is suspicious. I did my research, but Potter fucked it up for all of us.

“There was a shootout. Alvarez killed them, but the police came and it ended up with some high speed vehicle chase—“

 “Draco, did you testify against Alvarez?”

“Yes—we got better deals out of it—why—“

“Listen to me, alright---FUCK,” he said , putting his hand to his mouth and glancing outside his cell.

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head. “Your wands are in lock up?”

“Luckily, these stupid fucking Muggles almost threw them in the trash—Blaise, why do you look so scared?”

“You have targets on your back! You three don’t know what you’ve done! I’ve got to find Phillip. Stay close to me!”

He rushed out of the cell with Draco tailing behind him and caught sight of Phillip with the Wise Guys playing cards and laughing. He held up his hand to Draco and walked up to them. They quieted down a bit. Phillip took a glance behind him and got a look at him before cursing under his breath.

“What is it?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it, I just need a favor and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Depends on the favor,” Carlos said coolly, eying him up and down. He motioned towards Draco.

“He testified against Alvarez for a better deal. As did his friends—“

“Hold on before you start, Zabini. Now, we have respect for you because you do your jobs well and you’re loyal.  But you know the family policy on rats. No matter who they testified against.”

He sighed deeply. “What is it that you want me to do? Do you want me to beg? Do I have to call in a favor?”

Carlos leaned back in his chair and stared back at Draco. “That one could get protection from those Aryan fucktards. Why not just let them have at it?”

“You know what will happen and—Carlos, I’ll do anything. Anything you want.”

He stared at him for a long while. “Use your phone call to set up your girls for my nephew’s bachelor party tonight. And do the trade with the La Eme.”

Fucking hell. He didn’t want to do business with the Mexican Mafia. His dealings with them were how Penelope got killed. He looked back at a nervous Draco and thought to his former Hogwarts classmates. Sighing deeply, ran a hand through his curly hair and stared at the ground before relenting.

“Okay. For their protection, I’ll do it.”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes. What is he to you?”

“Childhood friend. Really prissy. Not able to handle this lifestyle.”

“You do realize that if we protect them, that they work for us in and out of here.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Carlos stood up from the table and offered his hand. Eying it suspiciously, he shook it and nodded stiffly before walking up to Draco. He grabbed him by shoulders.

“Do what they say.”

“The Muggles? Blaise—“

“Listen to me and listen to me carefully. You have too many people in here that want to hurt you. They’ll see all three of you and use it to fuck you up. I got you protection and I’m putting myself on the line for it. Don’t make me look like an asshole. Do as they say.”

“Only if I get to be in the cell with you.”

“I got that covered. Hey,” he said, touching his cheek. Draco shivered and cast his eyes down as he caressed it. “Behave, love. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said softly. Blaise gave him a soft smile before glancing at Phillip. He rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Malfoy. I’m going to show you the 'gym'. You should get some meat on those non-existent bones.”


	2. The Beginning of the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sees an old face and laments about his situation

Harry sat before the phones, staring at them glumly before reluctantly dialing Hermione’s number. The prison would allow them to make the call since they were essentially foreigners and were fortunate (or unfortunate) not to be deported after sentencing. Ron wasn’t too far off, but he hadn’t spoken to him since they’d arrived hours prior on the bus from the county jail. At least they wouldn’t see the murderer. He wasn’t too knowledgeable about the inner going-ons of the American Muggle prison system, but he’d watched a couple documentaries at how dangerous it could be. Harry had no illusions. Well-built as he was, he wasn’t built for that sort of lifestyle.

“Harry?!”

“Hermione—“

“WHAT IN THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE!? WHERE’S RON?!”

“He’s with me.”

“I haven’t heard from you two it months and the call I get from you is from San Quentin?!”

“I’m sorry. I know you were worried after the divorce proceedings—“

“Are you okay? Is Ron okay!?”

“We’re as good as we can be. We were involved in a police chase.”

“How in the world did you get involved with something like that, Harry James Potter?”

He glanced at Ron, who only glared at him as he continued, “Malfoy got us in trouble.”

“Does it involve drugs?”

“I don’t know. I spotted Malfoy doing something shady and I thought I’d redeem myself—things went terribly wrong, people died, and we end up locked up in a local jail until we were sentenced. We’ve got fifteen months.”

“Harry,” she started and he grimaced when she started to sob.

“I’m sorry…”

“Things are terrible here! This new Minister—I just know Harry. I know he isn’t good for the wiz--our community. He isn’t good at all. I’m afraid I’m about to lose my position. The store is in trouble—“

“Hermione, they record phone calls. We can’t talk about things like that here--just in case of MACUSA keeping in touch as well.”

“Oh,” she said softly sniffling. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said with a sigh. “How are my babies?”

She laughed from her crying. “Um—Lily showed her first signs today. Every day she’s looking more and more like Ginny. James and Albus miss you terribly.”

“I sent you some information in the mail. Where I’m at—could you send some pictures? As many as you can?”

“Yes—I can hire a lawyer as well. See if I can get an appeal—“

“Don’t bother. We took the deal. I wanted to see him in jail.”

“And who is that?”

“His name is Joseph Alvarez.”

“Why does that name sound familiar…he must be associated with some of our contacts. Are you allowed visitors?”

A guard suddenly burst out loudly, “Potter, 30 seconds!”

“Yes, but if you come don’t bring them here. Come by yourself, understand?”

“Of course. Harry, tell Ron to call me when he can? I think—I’ll sit down and talk to them so that you two can at least talk to them on the phone.”

He wiped away tears. “That’d be great. Love you, Hermione.”

“I love you both. Be careful.”

“Time’s up!”

“I got it,” he said in annoyance, getting up from the chair as he was replaced. He went to speak to Ron, but he paused when he caught glimpse of someone from long ago. At first, he thought maybe it could be mistaken identity. However, despite the nearly diminished British tone, the deep rich tone that he remembered from an eavesdropped conversation rang in his ears. He sat next to Ron, who followed his glance.

“That’s Blaise Zabini.”

“It is,” Harry said, feeling stunned. He performed a simple investigation spell he’d created for himself wandless.

“Hey Mia. It’s nice to hear from you too. How are the girls? That’s good. That would be nice; always great to see your lovely faces. Listen love, can you do me a favor? Know Hector Gervani? Before you say no, I’d appreciate it,” Blaise said to the person on the phone.

He paused and there was a wicked grin on Blaise’s face as he laughed in response to what was told. “Is that all I have to do to get you to pay him and his friends a visit? Darling, I’d do it for free. Oh really? I don’t know. I’ve been a good boy. Well that doesn’t mean I want you to treat me like one.

“Yeah that’s today. You did? I appreciate that. Hmm…I’ll think about it. Still caught up in the past. I am. However, I’m pretty sure you’ll help me move on. If I can’t get the conjugal—thank you, Mia. I’ll put you on the list. Alright bye.”

Harry shared a look with Ron. He knew he was simply making assumptions, but it didn’t seem as if Blaise Zabini was that much of a savory character. He didn’t notice them as he passed by, breathing a sigh of relief.

“We should follow him," Ron finally said. He was slumped against the wall and understandably looking severely depressed.

He glanced at Ron. “Are you going to speak to me?”

“Only because we should probably get in good with Zabini. I’d seen a documentary about joining gangs in prison. Chances are Zabini is probably part of one if he’s a career criminal. I don’t want to get raped. I wouldn’t like it.”

“And I would,” he asked in disgust.

“Come on mate, that’s not what I meant. I’m not saying that because you’re into that that you’re into rape. But I’m far less likely be able to take it up the rear by force.”

He hated to admit that Ron was right, but he was. Harry had learned when he eventually accepted his sexuality after Ginny’s death that he was quite the fan of taking it roughly. However, even being rough was something that was taboo with in the gay community. He knew that much. And while Ron was just discovering who he was after his divorce, he was nowhere near able to accept something like that. Honestly, he knew his position in this prison. They were at a disadvantage. And if Hermione recognized the name of some American thug all the way in Britain, they were possibly in for something worse.

He and Ron followed Zabini from a long distance, stopping as he went into the visiting lounge and was smiling. Was someone visiting him? It didn’t occur to him that Zabini might have Muggle contacts aside from his criminal connections. He was always cold from what he’d known and proud of his pureblood heritage. Then again, time could change people dramatically. It had a way of erasing the past in such a peculiar way that if one allowed it, they could completely forget who they had been. Seemed like the case with Zabini as he greeted tall, athletic dark beauty with dreads. With her was a little girl that appeared to be his daughter.

He glanced at Ron, who looked pained as he watched Blaise pick up the little girl as she ran into his arms. The last thing he wanted was for his children to see him in such a position. He’d rather experience fifteen more months of pain from not being able to see them than the pain of having them knowing that he was a felon.

“Should we listen in?”

It was a private interaction, but they had to know more about him if they were going to trust him. He gave the woman a kiss on the cheek and wondered if she was the mother. She looked as if she could be. He waved his hand again and glanced around. There were no guards. They were Level I, which was both a blessing and curse. Less security meant more freedom, which was one of the worse double edged swords in the environment they were stuck in.

“—times 2 is 10!”

“Wow,” Blaise said, beaming. “You’re so bright!”

“Daddy, Hailey says you come home in a year,” the little girl said, smiling in delight as her father seemed to be stopping himself for just wanting to continuously hold her.

Blaise gave the woman an incredulous look and she sighed deeply. “She overheard a conversation me and mum were having,” the woman replied in what appeared to be a thick Jamaican accent.

“I see. I hope to be home in a year so that you and I can do things together. Your aunt says you like baseball. I used to be on a sports team.”

“Really? What’d you play daddy!”

“Something like baseball; only more fun,” he said in a stage whisper. Her big doe browns eyes widened with excitement.

“Will you show me?”

Blaise smiled, running his hands through her bushy, curly hair. “One day. Your aunt and I have to talk. How about you play with the dolls daddy had sent to you last month?”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy! I love them! One of the dolls look just like me!”

“I doubt it. I bet you’re prettier.”

She giggled, kissing him on the cheek and jumping off his lap. She sat at a table nearby where they could obviously watch her well. Blaise turned to the woman, his smile faltering slightly.

“Do me a favor and take a visit to New York to check on the girls,” Blaise said lowly.

“Tell that whore Mia to not come around, trying to worm her way into your life like she’s your wife,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry about that—“

She waved him off. “She’s been doing it for a while now. It’s not your fault. At least she isn’t inappropriate, but she dresses like a skank and that I don’t like around Dahlia.”

“How are the books on the store?”

“Good—I’m glad you have something legal going on here. I think we should stay here. Jennifer is up for it.”

“Glad she stuck with you through all of this.”

“She’s a good woman. Puts up with a lot of my shit.”

Blaise laughed. “I used to say the same thing about Penelope.”

They were silent for a long while. “I should tell you that your grandfather stopped by to see her the other day.”

“I should be surprised, but I’m not. Old man wants something from me. I’m giving it to him.”

“I thought you were trying to ween away—“

“Something came up. I had to act quickly. I don’t doubt that he’ll be by to see me. I’ll probably die from shock and you’ll have to adopt her.”

“He scared the fuck out of me popping in like some sort of magician—“

“—wizard—“

“She recognized him as soon as she saw him. Is that a magic type of thing," she asked in amusement.

“It can happen. When we’re really young, our magic is uncontrollable. As a result, it reaches for stability of an elder.”

“He seems like he loves her.”

Blaise snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be fooled. It’s what this family is like. He’s getting desperate. He doesn’t want his legacy to fade and it’s up to the ‘half-breed black disgrace’ to carry it; no matter how tainted.”

“Are you saying I let that motherfucker interact with her and he’s a goddamn bigot?”

“He wouldn’t do anything bad to her. He’s an asshole, not a monster. His problems lie with what my mother did—or rather what she didn’t do. She continued to be rebellious. Even her death was an act of rebellion.”

“How can you do it? How can you deal with being part of something that would deny you for something you can’t control?”

He lit a cigarette and blew it away from her, glancing at the guard that was flirting with a woman whose imprisoned husband had just left ‘crying’. She was returning the advances and it was all summed up how bloody terrible it was to be in that position. They were leaving a life behind. He couldn’t imagine doing it for a year. Who knows how long that man had been there and left his wife to pick up pieces she probably couldn’t put back together.

“Look at her,” Blaise murmured. “Just came to see her husband and flirting without shame with one of her husband’s captors. It goes against everything she should be doing. You may think she’s a slut; a bitch with no sympathy for the man that is her husband.

“They have conjugal visits and she should be happy with that right? But her husband is doing life. Lucky that he can even see her. She probably has kids; they usually do. He left her with shit. She may have money, but I doubt it. She may be able to take care of herself and the kids, but I doubt it. Chances are she’s spreading her legs for any man that will take her not because she’s a slut, but because she wants to feel something.

“That’s me. I don’t have anyone but you and my daughter. Sure, I’ve got respect in the criminal world and now my grandfather finally gives shit about me because I’m the only family member left that is his blood. But none of those gits really care about me. I’m lucky enough to still have her; have you. I hold on to that and then I coast through the rest. Just surviving.”

“But he’s a bigot! They’re racists; disgusting motherfuckers—“

“It is what it is. I have to take care of you.”

“I can work if you want—“

“I have to take care of you,” he repeated sternly. “And her. Because you are all I’ve got.”

“Jesus, Blaise,” she said softly, tears flowing down her cheeks as she put her face in her hands.

“I’m a crime slut.”

She giggled. “Blaise—“

“Spreading my legs for the mob.”

“Stop,” she said with a loud laugh.

He stared at her for a moment and Harry could see the same love in his eyes that he’d once had for Ginny…then unfortunately Draco Malfoy. He wondered if that love was because she was the sister of his former love or because it was a love that he couldn’t have. He stared at the fag in his hand curiously then glanced at her.

“You’re not having any problems are you?”

“She and Jennifer keep me clean. I had to get clean once Penelope died. Promised my mum I would, but we don’t get along with all the things I’ve pulled over the years. Even though the little one sees her every weekend, she’s with me most of the time. Takes a lot. Too much to stop to think about heroine.”

“I figured. Buy yourself a cake. Your fifth year clean is coming up.”

Grinning, she squeezed his hand. “You and Jennifer are the only people who know that anniversary.”

“I was in love with you for a long time, remember?”

“Be good. It took a long time for Jennifer to accept this between us.”

He snorted. “Dyke will get over it.”

“Blaise!”

“Sorry, just slipped out,” he replied with a smirk.

“I’m bringing her with me next time. Are you going to be nice?”

“Of course,” he said, laughing as he looked at his daughter scrunching up her face.

She paused for a moment, staring at him before narrowing her eyes. “Please tell me you aren’t going to settle down with Mia.”

“Whoa—where the hell did that come from?”

“Do you talk to her?”

“Yes,” he said softly, taking another puff. “She’s been listed as my girlfriend for ages. Only way I can get conjugal visits.”

“I thought you were bisexual.”

“No one in here I want to stick my penis in. I have standards, doll. And you sure as hell can’t give me what I want.”

Harry froze when she looked towards the window. He grabbed Ron and they ducked away. He felt like a complete idiot. “There was someone staring at you. He didn’t look too bad. Neither did the ginger.”

Blaise muttered a curse under his breath before saying, “Old classmates from Britain.”

“Why not them?”

“We don’t have a good history. Because they’re rats, I have to watch their asses now. That’s why I made the deal.”

Harry glanced at Ron who looked at him in surprise. “I thought you didn’t have good history,” Penelope replied; probably as confused as they were.

“They’re an associate when an ex-lover of mine.”

“Oh—ohhh. Him. The guy you told me about. That’s what this is all about? Wow, Blaise, you must have it bad—“

“It’s not that! They aren’t made for prison. Any of them. They’re frilly little white boys in comparison and they’d be eaten alive. I’d like to think I have a bit of a heart.”

“The Blaise Zabini I know wouldn’t have given a fuck.”

“That was before having a daughter and losing your sister gave me a conscience.”

Ron was poking him in the shoulder and he glanced up. There was trouble. In front of them stood a group of white men. The one in the middle sort of resemble Draco if he was plainer and dirty looking. His blond hair fell over his dull brown eyes and when he grinned, his teeth were nearly brown. He grimaced in disgust. Americans always claimed the Brits were the ones with the terrible teeth. The one flanked to his left was a man with a bushy beard and long matted brown hair. He was gigantic in stature; much taller than even Ron and three times as bulky. The other blonde was a bit more pleasant looking, about their height but still completely unsavory. They stood up slowly. They were in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is probably going to be just as short, sorry for inconsistency!


	3. Ron + Harry = Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron's bitterness towards Harry starts it's way towards the boiling point. Also, Ron and Harry see an unfortunate side of Zabini

Fucking Harry Potter.

When he’d gone to California to get away for two days, it had turned into six months. Those six months turned into what seemed like a life time in prison. He hated Harry for it. He’d told him to leave Malfoy alone. That Malfoy didn’t give a shite about him and that he’d drag him down with him. It happened and because Ron had to stick that old-fashion Gryffindor loyalty he should have left back in the war, he had drowned as well. Well, fuck the both of them. He’d stick with it as long as he could, but as soon as he got out he was determined to cut his ties with Harry.

He just wanted peace. Peace was why and he Hermione had decided upon an amicable divorce so that their children wouldn’t live in a toxic household. Peace was spending that time at the Burrows with his mother and father; his family who had to be giving birth to hippogriffs worrying about where he’d disappeared to. Peace to practice magic and not be confined behind walls with people who he very well didn’t belong to be with. If something happened to him, he prayed to whatever God there was that Harry would pay for it five times as much. He’d haunt his sorry arse until he committed suicide or he was driven insane.

That was how much he hated Harry at that moment. To him, Harry was aligned with fucking Draco Malfoy as far as he was concerned.

They stood before what he recognized as the Aryan Brotherhood. Muggle Death Eaters to him; only messier killers. He’d heard whispers about it on the bus as he sat alone glaring out the window. Joining them for protection. He would rather his throat be slit than join those racist son of bitches. As he glared at them with a distrustful stance, he didn’t doubt that they’d be dead if they denied them. They ignored him as they spoke to Harry. He was darkly amused. A Weasley through and through. Non-pure no matter where they went.

“Welcome to San Quentin. Name’s Gerald. This here is Peter,” he said motioning to the rather large bearded one. He grunted a hello as he stared at Harry. Green eyes, black hair, and soft pale skin. If he wasn’t worried about having no one aside from Zabini, he’d leave him to them. He stood his ground, however, crossing his arms. He offered Harry his hand and he eyed it in disgust.

“Hello,” he said stiffly.

“You must be Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. I’m Larry,” the other man squeaked. He was a teenager obviously; not too many years on him. More than likely a willing--what was it--bitch.

“How do you know our names?”

“You have a mark on you. Spics are calling for your blood. Whites have to look out for whites in here.”

Harry glanced at Ron. “Thought you’d have a problem with gingers.”

“As long as he isn’t a jew, we don’t care about hair color. All whites are welcome. We offer protection—for a price.”

“Our souls,” Ron asked with a sneer. There was stifled laughter from Larry, who sobered when he was given a glare.

“Adorable. Look here, faggot,” he said harshly. “I’m trying to be nice here. We don’t give handouts to everyone. You seem like you come from respectable, pure families despite being fags. So we’re offering a bone.”

“Fuck you.”

Peter chuckled, pounding his fist into his palm. There were Draco Malfoys, Gregory Goyles, and Vincent Crabbes everywhere it seemed. Transcending from the wizarding world into the greatest depths of the Muggle penal system.

“Looks like your ginger friend is looking a beating. I’ll give you that one.”

“We aren’t interested.”

“Think you’re better than us?”

“Yes,” Harry answered coolly. Ron panicked when the big one step towards Harry, ready to grab him. Suddenly those feelings of hatred vanished and all he could feel was fear for his friend. He was prepared to fight despite knowing that it clearly wasn’t a fair one. Then to his relief Zabini showed up.  He wrapped his arm around Ron. He should have been annoyed being touched by him without permission, but he was just glad they had someone to back them up.

“Been a long time, Weasley. Potter.”

Harry’s eyes flashed relief but he kept cool. “Zabini. It has been.”

“Looks like the filthy mutt nigger grew balls. Up for probation and all the sudden the upstanding spook wants to be touch. Won’t be so tough when the spic gets a hold of you.”

“I’m genuinely hurt. I’ve tried so hard to be accepted by you. What happened to peace and brotherhood amongst your fellow human beings?”

“Walk away Zabini.”

He dropped his arm. “Are you threatening me, you backwoods bumpkin? Because I don’t think my friends over there would appreciate it.”

They turned to look at a great deal of Hispanics watching them. Where did they come from? Were they watching them? They looked scarier than the men who stood behind them and he wondered if that thought was a bit prejudice. Truth be told, everyone in that prison looked terrifying. He’d take Azkaban over it. Gerald sneered at him.

“You fucking piece of shit—“

“You’re right. And this fucking piece of shit is telling you to fuck off before you lose your life to a filthy Mexican.”

“If you think it’s over because—“

“Blah blah blah...I got the message, Dr. Claw.”

Gerald colored and Ron figured that being talked down to by someone he deemed automatically beneath him. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but glanced at Blaise’s friends again before making his way out of the area. They came up to them and they observed them giving Blaise a handshake.

“What’s with the Gringoes? They looked scared shitless.”

“Because they are. These are my mates from Britain. They’re cool but not up to the lifestyle. Harry, Ron, this is Pablo. Decent man.”

“Now I’m decent huh? You’re lucky we have a deal, Zabini. Otherwise I would have enjoyed seeing these rats and your dumb black ass get pounded in that by racist white fuck.”

“Come on, man, don’t get unpleasant. From father to father, you know why I didn’t fall in.”

“I offered it to you out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Kindness—kindness had anything to do with the trade?”

He smirked. “Can’t back out now. And don’t, otherwise the Aryans won’t be the only ones to fuck you up.”

Blaise sighed deeply. “I got it. When I get my phone call, I’ll get my contact to get in touch with your ‘homies’.”

“Watch it,” he said with a glare, eying both he and Harry like scum. “Don’t want to catch any diseases from vermin. Catch you later.”

“Later.”

He let out a breath as if he had been holding it in for ages. “Why does everyone hate us?”

“You testified against someone.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why is that bad?”

“You did it to save your own arse. We call that a rat. And you’re homosexual rats so—I’d be careful. Don’t drop the soap,” he told them with a grin. It had to admit, Blaise Zabini was unbelievably gorgeous. Five years in prison. He wondered if he had had to fight to keep himself from being harmed. Or was Zabini, despite those beautiful looks, just as dangerous as the others. They certainly respected him. And obviously, he was no respectable pureblood. Ron blushed when Blaise noticed he was staring.

“Not sure if you wish to see Draco or not. We might run across him. Did you get the tour yet?”

“We did. Prison guard.”

“I wouldn’t get too close. I basically sold your souls to the Italians.”

Ron felt his heart drop into his stomach. “You mean we’ll have to do—do bad things? Like shank people?”

“No Weasley, you won’t have to shank anybody,” he said in annoyance. As soon as a guard passed and he was out of earshot, he slammed Harry harshly against the wall and grabbed him by the throat.

“What the—“

“Do you know the meaning of privacy, Potter? Or do you not fucking care about conversations you’re impeding on?”

Ron went to grab him but Blaise gave him a cold, dead stare that stopped him in his tracks. Then he realized at that moment that Blaise was one of those criminals that had killed someone and gotten away with it. Possibly numerous times. Looks were incredibly deceiving. He gulped, backing away as Harry struggled to breath.

“I got it! I’m sorry!”

“If I catch you eavesdropping with a fucking spell on me again, I’m going to shove a screwdriver in your ear. And I’ll get away from it too. They’ll be three orphaned children. Understand me?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he nodded frantically. He let go. “I’m sorry,” he repeated softly.

“What did you hear?”

“We just needed to see if we could trust you—“

“And how can I trust you, hmm? I’m seriously considering withdrawing protection.”

“You can’t Zabini!”

“And why the hell not,” he said with an incredulous laugh. “People aren’t called rats because they’re putting someone in jail. Hell, I deserve to be in here. I know that. And so does Alvarez. You better hope and pray he’s put in Level IV confinement. You think I’m evil? Wait until you meet him again.”

“What did you want us to do, Zabini?! Let him get away with murdering—“

“Oh fuck you, Potter. You did it for shorter time. You would have gotten way more time if you wouldn’t have testified against him. It’s called taking responsibility for what you’ve done. I can’t stand that fucking asshole, but I also can’t stand people who sell out others not because it’s the right thing, but to benefit themselves.”

“We were thinking of our children.”

“If you were really thinking of them, you would have left Malfoy alone.”

He had him there. Harry pulled in his lips angrily, glaring at Blaise. “Fuck. You. Don’t tell me about thinking about my children.”

“I don’t deny I’m one of the shittiest fathers that have ever existed. But you had an affair with him, knowing very well what kind of bullshit he was doing and you’re going to pretend that you’re making the right decisions for your children? Weasley doesn’t look too happy with you.”

Harry looked at Ron. He could only bite his lip and looked away. “You’re right. I am a piece of shite. But I’m not a murderer. Obviously you are.”

“I am. And I’m unrepentant,” he whispered, backing him into a wall. He reached to run his hand through Harry’s hair and he shuddered violently. “So if you give me a reason to, I swear I’m going to not only kill you, but it’s going to hurt.”

“Message received,” Harry said, visibly swallowing hard.

“Fantastic! You two enjoy your stay at San Quentin. I imagine it’s going to be lovely,” he said with a dark smile before turning on his heel and going in the opposite direction. It was quite obvious they had no real friends. They were in unfamiliar territory. He wanted to be home. And if he was powerful enough, he run away home and hide in the Burrows the rest of his life. He’d rather be a prisoner with people who loved him instead of how he was. He felt tears prick his eyes and Harry noticed, reaching to touch. He shrugged away from him before going back towards their cell, planning to sleep it all away.


	4. In Love With Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's love for Blaise returns with a great fervor

Draco followed Phillip to the yard and was thankful to finally get to have a smoke. He’d been shaking the whole entire time, knowing very well that his small thin frame was feminine enough to attract all the horny Muggles. They stared at him like he was a piece of meat. He’d seen some of the ones that didn’t look as great as he did. They flaunted their looks, dressed as effeminate as possibly to show off their stomach and asses. To him, it was disgusting and degrading. The thought of being there alone and having to sell himself to survive terrified him.

He shakily lifted it up as Phillip gave him a sympathetic look. He despised it. Here, the filthy blood traitor squib—who was he kidding? He’d trusted a disgusting, murderous drug dealer. At least he had Blaise. He probably wasn’t any better, but who cared? He was happy to see him. Even in there, he was happy to see him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted Blaise to shag away those feelings of despair that built up in front of him. He wanted to feel that cock in his mouth and worship him as they did so many years ago when they were young, awkward and pretended to hate each other out of fear.

If he would have just begged Blaise to stay…his father would have understood. At least Blaise was a pureblood. He would have given him the male heir and Blaise would be the same snooty person he’d fallen in love with. His glanced up and the shaking stop. Relief flooded him when he saw his lover—former lover—giving him a soft smile as he came up to him.

“Was he good,” Blaise asked his grumpy cousin, who shrugged.

“I didn’t hear a slur. That was good.”

Blaise gave a wink to Draco before responding, “You mean he didn’t call you a guido?”

“You should probably talk to him. He’s been eyed like a steak running around with legs. Motherfuckers been holding forks and shit with their tongues hanging out of their mouths.”

“That’s a nice visual. Tell Carlos the drop is being organized. Maybe you can make the phone call to Timothy.”

“Sure. Hey, initiation in a couple of days. See you Malfoy,” he replied as he patted his cousin on the shoulder. He only nodded as Blaise sat by him.

“You okay? You look paler than usual and that’s an accomplishment.”

“I’m scared.”

“You should stop being so fucking beautiful. Don’t wash your hair. Stop cleaning your nails. Stop brushing your teeth.”

Draco smiled despite it all. He always knew how well he looked, but when the compliment came from Blaise…it felt like bliss. “I can’t. Habit.”

“Same.”

“How did you survive?”

“I’m an evil bastard.”

“No you’re not.”

“Things change, Draco. I’m serious. I don’t have any illusions about what I am. Don’t be fooled by who I was. I may look the same, but I’m not.”

He glanced at him and saw the seriousness in his eyes. He’d heard about the things Blaise had done from his own father. He’d become what he hated. Truly worse than any Death Eater is what his father had said. However, if Blaise couldn’t recognize that sacrificing himself to make sure he and the others stayed safe proved he wasn't evil just lost, who was Draco to tell him otherwise? He was not a good judge of character. He didn’t have much character either.

The men that had been watching him were glaring at Blaise. “Who are they?”

“Aryan Brotherhood. I’m on their shit list. Don’t be scared. I’ve already made the arrangement. You’ll be in a cell with me.”

“I want to hug you.”

“Don’t. I don’t want anyone knowing you have feelings for me.”

He felt hurt by that. “Why—“

“It’s dangerous to have a weakness in here. You’d be a weakness for me and I can’t afford that.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Stop. Don’t be. I’m glad you’re here. Seeing you—seeing you was a light in that endless darkness I’m consistently living in.”

Draco glanced back at them. “What about when I shower?”

“I had to pay a hefty price to make sure you and the others share the time with the Italians. You’ll be good. I shower with the blacks most of the time; prison politics couldn’t keep me from that.”

“Do they ever try—“

“They have. They don’t anymore. I put someone in a coma.”

“Merlin,” he muttered, both frightened and slightly turned on by the image of Blaise being so dangerous. With anyone else, it’d be different. He felt unbelievably silly, being like a girl who was attracted to danger. Pansy had been the same. Knew he was slated to be initiated by Voldemort and she loved being shagged by evil incarnate. He rubbed the faded tattoo on his arm and had to stop himself from touching Blaise’s tattoos. The staples of a killer. He had several tattoos with skulls.

“Do the skulls represent the people you’ve killed?”

Blaise eyed him lazily before staring ahead. “Good guess, bambola.”

It’d been so long since he’d been called such a nickname. He had hated it during the time he’d been in denial about his sexuality. Being described as a doll was taking away the masculinity. After a while, he had learned to love it. Having Blaise whisper it along with other filthy Italian words; touching him intimately and reaching underneath his skin to the parts of his soul that called out for him. It was Blaise he thought of when Potter was shagging him. It was men that almost looked at him, but never as close, that he used to be replacements. He would always love Blaise. He knew that when he said goodbye to him and said the words he needed to hear.

And he’d continue to love him, no matter what he did. It was completely fucked up that he had that mindset. It was his vanity. People didn’t only stare at him, they stared at Blaise. Even the ones that deemed him those dirty racial slurs Muggles used. They hated themselves for wanting him probably, which was why he was hated even more. He was beautiful. He wanted him.

“Fuck me,” he said softly.

It was only minutes before Blaise said something to a guard and they were in a closet. He pressed him up against the wall and feeling him so close made him want to just get lost. It made him forget everything and everyone. Feeling that sort of love again was addictive. He saw it in Blaise’s eyes. Perhaps it was something he drew from his past, but it didn’t matter. Just a bit of that look had Draco whimpering as Blaise’s thumb traced his bottom lip.

“I haven’t been with man in years. I have a girlfriend. Sort of.”

A pang of jealously hit his chest that he tried to push away, but it was a bit overwhelming. Draco didn’t even know who it was and he hated her already. Fucking filthy Muggle bitch. He’d make sure he never wanted her. He took his thumb in his mouth and sucked on it softly. Blaise leaned down, removing it and kissed him. And fuck it, it felt good. Holy fuck, it felt so goddamn good. His chest felt like it was going to explode at his tongue swiped against his. He felt tears coming down his eyes. He’d wanted it for so long.

“Inside me, now.”

There was a deep chuckle that made his cock harden more. He shuddered. “Always impatient, la mia bambola.”

“Stop teasing.”

“But I like teasing you. You look prettier when you beg. So beg, beg for it baby,” he whispered in his ear.

“Please—fuck me. I want your cock.”

He grinned, shoving his pants down and then Draco’s. He stepped out of them and he gasped when Blaise picked him up. He wrapped his legs around his waist and he cried at feeling his cock rubbing between his cheeks. They kissed passionately again and he wrapped his arms around his neck. His body heat made him sweat and the closet was stuffy, but it didn’t matter. Blaise pulled his bottom lip with his teeth and let out a low moan.

“I should probably be using a condom.”

“Fuck that!”

“Brat.”

“Yours.”

“My prison bitch,” he said with a wicked smile that made Draco’s heart skip a beat.

“Yes.”

“That means I get to fuck you whenever I want. That that pretty little pink arsehole of yours will always be wet and waiting.”

“In that case, I’ve always been your bitch.”

Blaise’s amused expression faltered. “No, you’ve always been bambola. My love. Always will be, Draco.”

“I love you.”

Blaise shoved his cock inside and stared at him for a moment, looking surprised before saying. “I—love you too.”

“You mean it.”

He nodded giving him a soft smile, melting his heart. He was slowly for a moment as Draco held onto him, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of him again. It occurred to him that maybe Blaise was acting and really felt nothing for him. It didn’t matter. And the fact that it didn’t matter—he was pathetic. He knew he was. But he was at his lowest and he was there to pick him up. He captured his lips in his and they moaned into each other’s mouth as he penetrated him deeply. He clawed into back while Blaise’s blunt nails dug into his arse. It’d be red and bruised. It was what he wanted. He came first and it splattered over both of their chest. His dark lover buried into him deeper; making him cry in silent pleasure and hold on tighter. Blaise murmured a phrase in Italian and he came hard, bucking into harshly. He let out a sharp gasp at the feeling, clawing even deeper. He lowered his legs and he stumbled, but Blaise held on.

“Fuck that felt good,” he breathed out. He brought him in for a soft kiss that Draco reluctantly broke.

“It was a long time coming. Get it, coming?”

He snorted, stroking his hair. “Can you perform wandless to clean us up?”

Nodding, he smirked, saying “Scorgify” and waved his hand. He winced in unison with him when the suds hit them. It was a bit shaky behind those walls and if he had to keep it up. Unfortunately, he couldn’t apparate out. It was too powerful a spell. However, when he was able to get to his wand he’d use to get both he and Blaise out. They’d get their children and run off together, raising them up together in their own personal utopia. A ridiculous dream, but he’d hold on to it.

They got out of the closet and Blaise winked at the guard, who nodded and walked away. “How do you get them to do it?”

“Guard is Italian. It’s how we--they get away with a lot of stuff. Now that I’m good with my grandfather, your time here won’t be so unpleasant. But do what I say, alright? Don’t fuck around and make me look like an asshole.”

“Yes sir,” he said with what he hoped was an innocent look.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Draco—“

“I know. I know these people are dangerous so I’ll be a good boy.”

“Good.”

“You’re dangerous too, aren’t you?”

“Not to you.”

“Let’s say I betray you.”

“I love you, but business is business. I’ll have to kill you if you do something stupid.”

Draco didn’t know why that thrilled him, but it did. “Would you bugger me before you kill me?”

“Draco, I’m not liking where this conversation is going—“

“I just want to know.”

“I will fucking **kill** you. Who cares?”

“Just as long as you promise to fuck me,” he replied with a grin.

“You’d better not, you git,” he replied with a smirk. They wandered towards the cafeteria and he noticed that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were there. His eyes caught with them and he glared back. Potter looked back down at his plate. Stupid fuck. If it hadn’t been for him, none of them would be there. Then again, he had gotten Blaise back in a way. In some sort of way. That bitch of a girlfriend he had was in the way. Perhaps he could figure out a way to get rid of her later. As for then, he was enjoying being near Blaise.

“Did you see them?”

“Yes, I saw them. Save them from being pummeled by the Aryan Brotherhood.”

He snorted. “Should’ve let it happen.”

“You fucked him all this time and you still hate him?”

“I do. That deal—it was going to get me back my son. I was going to buy my reputation back.”

“Alvarez would have eventually screwed you over. He did it to me.”

Draco glanced at him sympathetically. He wouldn’t say anything discouraging about the muggle he’d had his child with. In all fairness, the woman had had him when he couldn’t be there for him. And she’d given him a child. For that much, he’d respect her. However, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t glad she wasn’t around. If she hadn’t, she would be a complication. He obviously didn’t love his girlfriend. Knowing Blaise, he was probably using the slag for sex and whatever else.

“If I would have known, I would have found another way.”

He wasn’t really hungry, so he just sat near Blaise as he sat next to Phillip. Phillip glanced between them, snorted and rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t wait twenty four hours.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“I have a woman. With a vagina. A beautiful one, I might add.”

Blaise snickered, picking through his food and obviously trying to find the best he could eat out of it. “She’s alright. I’ve had better.”

“Fuck yoooooooooou--you had to remind me of that shit!?”

“Sorry, I slipped up.”

“Yeah, you slipped up, you piece of shit. What’s a British slur for faggot? Pillow biter? Pillow biters.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but what the fuck do I care about words?”

“It’s easy for you, asshole. Not so easy for straight men. We have slim pickings.”

“Just because I’m bisexual doesn’t mean I have a carousel of options,” Blaise said with a glare.

“Relax. If I could stomach it, I might fuck the ginger that keeps looking over here.”

They looked behind them to see that Weasley had been looking at them but stared back down as his plate of slop. “Congratulations, cousin. You’re attracted to a man.”

“I guess redheads are a weakness for me,” he said with a snort. “If you tell anybody that, I’ll cut your balls off.”

“No one cares.”

Draco looked at them for a moment before lowering his voice. “Is there any way you can kill them after you’re done using them?”

“Really,” Blaise asked incredulously.

“Yes! I’m serious.”

“Wow,” Phillip said with a low whistle.

“What?”

“You fit in perfectly with us lowly criminals. The prissy pureblood Draco Malfoy. Talking about taking someone’s life like you’re asking them for a cigarette.”

“You really want Potter dead,” Blaise asked in a low voice. Draco glanced back at him. He didn’t need Potter or Weasley. In fact, Potter being dead before he returned back to the UK would be a life saver. He really cared less about what happened to Weasley. Alive or not alive, he didn’t matter. There was a small part of him that kept poking at him; telling him that there had been pleasant moments before it all went to hell. And while Potter would never live up to who Blaise was, he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. He did love his eyes. They were the best part of him. He smiled.

“I want to kill him and collect his eyes. Think of it as a promise to me.”

Blaise stared at him for a moment. He broke out in to a grin and laughed, shaking his head. He was glad he didn’t disturb him. “Okay. When we can’t use them anymore and when one of them slips up, which I don’t doubt they will, I’ll arrange it. But you’re going to have to be nice. Don’t let them suspect anything.”

“I can do that.”

“Are you sure?"  


“Can I get a skull for it? Even if I don’t do it myself?”

He was giving that smile that he always adored and he helplessly returned it. “If that’s what you want, bambola.”


	5. Beginnings of a Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise and Ron bound over their childhood; Draco sees how ruthless Blaise can be

It was back to work. However, Blaise couldn’t help but hum a tune as he worked on the wooden table he’d carved. It was as therapeutic as it could be. Working in the prison was really worth shit. They didn’t make any off what they sold off and they got no acknowledgement because they were in fact just worthless human beings with assigned numbers. Nevertheless, it was something he enjoyed along with the software he worked on. That was where he made the legal money; the coding and helping with the prison computer system. The administration at San Quentin wasn’t very bright allowing him access to their system, but considering he was trying too good he wouldn’t try anything. If they fucked with his probation, he was going to fully exploit the flaws in the system. They’d never know what hit them and they wouldn’t be able to trace him.

He hummed, thinking about Draco and feeling as he had when he first kissed him. Thankfully, no one in that prison could read minds or he’d be forever fucked. He wouldn’t make it a day with those thoughts. He bit back smiles at the thought of him and how deliciously twisted he still was. When he’d been younger, a bit more proud, he thought lowly of Death Eaters and of his family. Killing was for lowly people who needed to do it. For sorry bastards who had nothing to lose. And what did he know—he became one of them.

It didn’t feel completely great; killing people. He tried not to kill innocent people. He didn’t like it when innocent people died as a result of his actions. At least with robbery, he was only affecting innocent people’s checking account. Terrible, but no one was hurt physically. They’d live another day. However, he got a great pleasure from killing other criminals. He wondered a lot if that pleasure involved some sort of deep seated self-hatred. As if he were killing himself over and over again. Fuck if that didn’t keep him up at night. A lot of the men he killed (refused women and children for obvious reasons) were people he’d worked with. A lot like him.

As far as Potter and Weasley went, he couldn’t feel sympathy for two men who left their children behind to do whatever the fuck they were doing in California. Weasley shouldn’t have followed behind Potter. That was always his fucking problem and it was finally going to get him killed. As for Potter, well, he knew Potter was going to fuck up because Potter was a fucking idiot. He was aware he was being a hypocrite, but hypocrisy was a Zabini staple. What would it be like to not continue the family tradition?

And if it was personal considering he had his hands all over Draco.

At the thought of it, he unintentionally broke the leg of a chair with his bare hands. Some of the people he worked with stared at him incredulously and some even fearfully. He smiled apologetically at them, grabbing an extra leg he put aside. Shit, he’d be at it all day. He didn’t want to leave Draco alone with his transition into the system that day.

He continued on his project, only to be interrupted by someone who had come in mid-shift. He raised an eyebrow and saw that it was Ronald Weasley. It was beneficial. Watching him so that he doesn’t do something stupid. Fat chance it wouldn’t happen, but it was good to keep an eye on them. And as all white collars looked when they found themselves in prison, Weasley resembled deep fried shit—extra crispy. He saw him staring but didn’t glance back. Just sat down at some table that needed sanding.

He looked as if he’d been crying all night. The part of him that was still able to feel empathy started to kick in. His judgment of him had been unfair. What happened was that he’d been loyal and been a friend to Harry. From what he could guess, Weasley more than likely tried to stop Potter. He’d been the one of reason. Maybe it’d rubbed off on him on account of Granger. Point was that Weasley, out of all of them, was probably the most innocent.

Shit. He actually felt sorry for him. He felt sorry for a bloody Weasley. That was his pathetic life. Rolling his eyes inwardly at the moronic empathy that was starting to grow, he made his way over. He wasn’t surprised he flinched.

“I haven’t done anything—“

“Relax Weasley. I’m here as a good will ambassador.”

He glared at him. “I don’t want any good will from a monster.”

“Yes, I’m as terrible as Cthulu, I get that. Really,” he replied with a smirk. “I’m being nice. I could just start being an asshole. And that part of me has gotten considerably worse over the years.”

He continued to frown, but his glare softened. “I keep forgetting that you saved our arse the other day. Thanks for that, despite what followed after.”

“It was nothing against you. I just fucking despise the ground Potter walks on.”

“Can’t blame you. Only real friend Harry has now is Hermione and she’s across the pond,” he muttered.

“Heard you got married. But if you were here—“

“I didn’t want to come. Not to California. I just need to get away from the press of the divorce and the shop going down the clunker.”

“Ah that’s right, Wizard’s Wheezes. I’m surprised,” he replied. He got up and drug his piece near him. He was curious as to what was going on in the wizarding world since he’d been gone. If things were going in his favor, it could possibly mean that his grandfather had more power than he believed. Was it possible that his grandfather had his hands in the Ministry? That would be completely fucked. He doubted it had anything to do with purity. More with spreading his business amongst unsuspecting wizards.

“Surprised that it did well?”

“Surprised it’s not doing well. Specialty shops in the wizarding world always do well. Sounds like the Ministry is jeopardizing your business.”

He looked at him, a bit stunned. “That is it. I’m surprised you guessed it.”

“That is the only thing that could do it. Your brothers have always been good business men. Even I can’t deny it.”

Ron smiled sadly. “Fred was pretty brilliant at it; as is George. I thought I was doing well and I was. But I couldn’t save it. Now it’s in danger of shutting down.”

“Why?”

“A lot of the items we sell have been banned because certain ingredients for potions have been banned. It’s not only jeopardizing our business, but the apotharies as well. St. Mungo’s is reaching for donations and they never had to. If St. Mungo’s shut down, that’s a lot of low income wizarding families in danger of losing healthcare.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Your worry sounds convincing.”

“I really am,” he insisted. “I don’t like hearing of a world I loved being crumbled, rich or poor wizards.”

“I should be home but I’m here. Working on a wooden table and praying that in a year my family will be okay.”

“I know how that is.”

“Do you?”

“Weasley,” he said in annoyance. “I don’t shit money, believe it or not. I spend a lot of time trying not to have anything I used to run on the outside crumble while I’m in here. It’s difficult.  Everything I have and own is something I got on my own. I had to work for it.”

“But—your family is rich—“

“The money that my mother had collected over the years went back to my grandfather because he’s a greedy son of bitch that wanted to use it as leverage to keep me under his thumb.”

“You sound like you hate him.”

“I hate him more than I hate your friend. It’s the sort of hatred that stews for years.”

“You sound like Malfoy.”

“As much as love him, Draco hates over petty shit. I have a good reason.”

He stopped, glancing at him. “That is?”

Blaise wasn’t sure if it was wise to share his business with Weasley. He knew very well that his temper could make him a vindictive sonovabitch. Draco had made it clear that he wanted Potter dead, but that Weasley didn’t have to be. So he’d be nice to him and perhaps in doing so, he could wean him from giving a shit about what happened to his friend. He was well on his way there. He remembered hearing about Weasley defeating that chess game in first year and that alone showed that Weasley was strategical. That made him a great asset to what he needed. He reluctantly decided to at least trust him enough to be open about it.

“If you tell Potter—“

“I won’t. I won’t tell anyone.”

He sighed deeply. “My father was an African French man. His parents had migrated from Nigeria to France when he was only a couple of months. Very free spirited. Nothing like my mother and I. In fact, the one blaring thing that set my father apart from all my mother’s previous husbands is that my father didn’t have anything to his name. He was a poor black man. Guess who didn’t like it.”

“Oh,” Weasley said with a grimace.

“He didn’t know who my mother was. He was still pureblood, so he charmed his way into her heart using the only card he had and she fell deeply in love with him. My grandfather was furious. He humiliated her when she went before him with her husband, calling her a race traitor—nigger lover…all sorts of names. He disowned and took away the riches. For a couple years after I was born, she was so unbelievably happy. We didn’t have much and my father didn’t care.

“But while he was working in Romania, my father unfortunately contracted Dragon Pox and he died a young man. About my age.  My mother took me before my grandfather at the age of seven and he told her that I was an ugly little mongrel that would never be part of his family. That no matter how young I looked, I was still that nigger’s child.”

He snapped in the leg sharply, putting on his goggles. “She begged for her money back. He made her kiss his feet because he’s a fucking asshole, of course, and gave her the galleons that belonged to her. Over the years, my grandfather would owl her and promise her everything if she’d just give me away. Or at very least, take away the Zabini name. She made me into a snooty brat, but she loved me. She loved me the best way she could. It was the sort of love she learned from my father.”

“She sent you away to protect you from getting prosecuted.”

“Yes,” he replied softly, suddenly feeling immense pain from thinking about her. He blinked back the tears that were forming.

“She didn’t kill her husbands, did she? It was your grandfather.”

He didn’t respond a while, because all he could think of was those few memories he had of when they were a family and that bastard didn’t matter. They had lived on the beach somewhere. He could even remember how it smelled. How it smelled every morning he woke up; sea, sand, and his mother’s wonderful cooking. His father always smelled like grass and lemons. He noticed that Weasley also smelled like that and wondered how the hell that was possible. It was a pleasant smell, but it made him miss his father. When he’d finally screwed in the leg and set it, content that it wasn’t wobbling, he stood up.

“I never hated your family because you were blood traitors, Weasley. I always hated you and your family because it reminded me of something I lost and that I’d never have again. It still does.”

He was glad that Weasley didn’t push it. Instead, he seemed to be admiring the work. “Did your dad teach you to do that?”

He grinned. “He did. It was his hobby. He made my whole set for my bedroom.”

“Mine too—you were as poor as my family.”

“Poorer,” Blaise said with a laugh. “We lived in the American islands. My father didn’t like to use magic for stupid shit, so my mother would take us to go get clean water in the village and bring buckets back. We had to use it for the entire day. Couldn’t waste it. St. Thomas.”

“Really Zabini?”

“Honest. I remember. It was long time ago, but I remember. I remember once I tossed over the bucket because my dad wouldn’t let me have the candy one of the tourists gave my mum and I. They were Italian, they thought I was cute because I knew the language so well. Of course, my dad wasn’t a violent man so I didn’t get a beating.

“I was around five and I got unbelievably filthy. My father would not let me take a bath. So I had to sit outside the door and the animals hung around me, licking the dirt off my face. I started to cry and I was out there until night. Then he finally came out, laughing at me, and we walked to the village. I learned my lesson. In fact, I went to fetch the water myself afterwards.”

“Bloody hell, Zabini. What happened?”

“You mean how did I become a bigot? I gave you a hint. My father died. I was fucking miserable. I learned to hate everyone and I found any, ANY, reason to do. Blood traitor? I hated them. Blue eyes? Hated them. Like to wear yellow? Particularly despised them. And Gryffindor? Scum of the earth. Poor people? Fuck them, because they reminded me of what I had.

“I missed the island life for years. I had everything I could want. But I wasn’t happy. My mother wasn’t happy. Sometimes I begged my mum if we could back. However, she would have rather been rich and sad then poor and happy. She’d been rich all her life. I adapted to that lifestyle and it just grew into me being a miserable little bastard.”

He stared at him for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re actually human.”

“At least half,” he replied in amusement, giving him a small smile. It was returned.

 

* * *

 

 He found Draco sitting in the cell and picking dirt from his thumbnails in disgust. Manual labor was not his forte, but he was going to have to get used to it. Especially when he was finally given things to do by his associates. He was pouting like a brat, but his face brightened when he saw Blaise. It occurred to him at that moment that perhaps having sex with Draco and admitting that he still loved him…but probably wasn’t in love with, had been bloody stupid. Something that he always feared was about his obsessive personality. There were three things Draco put his all into: magic, his family, and his intense feelings. If he hated someone, he’d make sure they’d know. Just as when he loved Blaise, he showed him. It was private and away from judgmental eyes, but he knew very well is obsessive.

Come to think of it, Blaise remembered being relieved that he left the UK and got a break from it. Loving Draco was a task. He put his all into intense feelings. That even meant jealously.

“How was your day?”

“I hate this place.”

“Sounds fantastic. Love, try the University program. Get a degree in something and all you have to do is read most of the time.”

“Fuck Muggle education!”

“Okay, you can work in the yard and get sweat, dirty, and suffer from the terrible burden of dirt under your fingernails.”

“But I thought I was just going to do criminal sort of things.”

“And you think that’s easier?”

“Do I get my hands dirty?”

“That depends on what you do. No such thing as clean when you’re a scummy bastard.”

He folded his legs on his cot. “What do you think they’ll give me to do?”

“Might ask you to fuck people. That’s all you’re good for.”

He sneered. “Fuck you, Zabini.”

“You’re being difficult. And I fucking told you how I feel about that. I’m bloody exhausted and I’m ready to punch you in the face.”

“Really?”

He shook his head. “Go to bed, Draco.”

“No. You can’t tell me what to do.”

He started to countdown. The last thing he wanted to do was show that side to Draco. He thought it was all fun and games because Draco had a hard time maturing. He was a perpetual brat. And he loved to get under people’s skin. That was including him. When they were in front of other people at Hogwarts, Draco had the habit of going on about dumb shit that would put the regular woman to shame. Not because he was dumb, but just because he liked to push buttons. He’d been a bully. Blaise would show him bully.

“Do what you want.”

“You’re not going to talk to me like I’m some child just because you do stupid Muggle shit.”

50...he’s smaller than him. Hitting him would be wrong. It would be incredibly wrong.

“Don’t forget Zabini that I’m not the blood traitor.”

“What do you call dealing drugs with a muggleborn?”

“It was a muggleborn. Someone like us. You deal with muggles.”

30…Smaller than him. Smaller than him. Pretty like a woman. He’s supposed to be protected. Keep the temper.

“I’m dealing with muggles because of your sorry arse. Why are you being a bastard?”

“Why are you being a bastard,” he parroted.

“Draco, I’m trying to help you. But you don’t want help. You want me to coddle you.”

“Fuck you.”

10...9...

“I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.”

“Fucking asshole….working with muggles….”

5...4...

“….fucking filthy muggle women…”

2...1...

“…having a mudblood for a daughter…”

Blaise saw absolute red, but he waited. Draco was silent and angry. That meant he was going to touch him to get a response. He should know to never tickle a sleeping dragon. Blaise’s temper had slept and it had awoken. The guard passed, glancing in the cell, and then passed. By the time he came back, Draco may very well be dead. He was trying to calm down. Then Draco accidentally touched him and he jumped off his bed, grabbing him by the throat.

“Mudblood for a daughter hmm? That would make you one, wouldn’t you? Seed of the father was all up in your pale arse. You love taking my cock, you sorry piece of shit.”

Draco clawed weakly at his hand. “Blaise,” he choked out.

“You’re about to die,” he murmured, using his free hand to grab the shank. “See this? Old fashioned shank. Took me a couple of years while I was kitchen duty to make it. Toothbrush, this plastic wrap called saran wrap by Muggles, and a lighter. It’s really sharp.”

He loosened his grip but Draco was still looking at him fearfully. He continued.

“It’s my best weapon. I’ve even used this to castrate someone inside. See Draco, when I told you I was an evil bastard I wasn’t fucking kidding. And when I told you that I would kill you if you betrayed me, that wasn’t a warning. It was a motherfucking promise. Say one more thing about my daughter.”

“I’m—“

“Shut up. You know love,” he said softly, stroking his face as he grabbed it and held the shank up to his eye. “Your eyes are awfully lovely. I could collect them. I usually don’t collect body parts, but if you went missing no one would care. Am I right? Answer me, bambola.”

He whimpered, but nodded in response as tears flowed down his cheeks.

“Your gray eyes are really pretty. I could make a killing in the black market for them. Both wizarding and muggle. Fancy that,” he breathed out holding his eye and sticking it in the socket, nearly touching the eye. Draco started to scream but he covered his mouth.

“Don’t move. I’ve done this before. You move, you lose your eye. And if you lose your eye, well…you wouldn’t want to live anyway. I mean you’re just a foreigner here. No one to care,” he said with a mock sadness. He removed the shank from his eye and his lover closed them tightly.

“Or maybe...you were so incredibly depressed that you hung yourself with your bed sheets.”

He grabbed Draco’s sheets from the top bunk and wrapped them around his neck as he sobbed hysterically into his hand. Snot and salty tears was wetting his hand. Not that he cared at moment. He was a bit too angry to care about Draco’s feelings. Fuck his worthless feelings. He was ready to kill him at that moment until he thought about the love that still shined in his eyes.

Their eyes met for a long time and Blaise had that terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. His anger diminished, he let go of him and unwrapped the sheets from around his neck. His victim was shaking in fear. Which he supposed he should have felt sorry about. He should have comforted him and tell him that he was being asshole. That was, if he hadn’t brought his daughter into it. However, he wasn’t going to kill him because it wasn’t worth. Draco had a mouth. Always had. He lied in bed.

“You really thought I’d never kill you. You’re lucky we’ve known each other for years. That’s the only thing that saved your life.”

Draco sat on his bed. “I know,” he said quietly, rubbing his neck.

“We can’t be together.”

“Please…”

“Go to bed, Draco. Just please, go to bed and leave me alone.”

“Blaise, I’m sorry. I was…mentioning your daughter. I was a bastard.”

He looked at him. “If you do it again—“

“I deserved it. I deserved that. And if someone had said something about Scorpius,”he said softly. Blaise sat up in bed.

“Scorpius. You named your son, Scorpius.”

He nodded. “Following a tradition—starting rather.”

“He must look like mini-you.”

He was silent for a while before removing something from his pocket. It was a still picture of a two year old child with silvery blond hair and bit grey eyes smiling at the camera. The picture wasn’t too old, but it had been through quite a bit of wear and tear. He couldn’t imagine having only one photo of her. His anger was gone and all he could feel at that moment was fear. Fear that if he let Draco into his life that their relationship with be mentally and physically abusive. When he was younger, he had been able ignore Draco’s antics. It was different. He was a different person.

He thought about what he’d told Weasley. How he’d held on to that to try to be somewhat decent. And long ago when his mother was still around. Long ago when the distraction of school helped him. Long ago when he remembered that his father was the opposite of who he was in so many ways. He then realized as Draco lied beside him, clinging for dear life in something he shouldn’t have start up again, that he’d become the man he hated. He was the true heir of Geraldo Zabini.

He probably wasn’t even half human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that a Ron/Blaise relationship isn't too popular, but I don't know...I kind of like the idea of it. Anyway, feel free to leave comments or any suggestions...criticism. All is welcomed.


	6. Prison Meals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets traumatized further and learns the importance of prison alliances

Harry had witnessed someone dying.

It hadn’t been on purpose. It hadn’t really been done in front of him. He was cleaning his glasses after coming from duty in the laundry room when he came across the Aryan Brotherhood with some person in their clutches. Thankfully, he was able to find a place to hide as he watched it happen. They held the man down and Harry suspected he could have been a fellow queer. If it was one reason for what would happen for his fate, they made it clear that that it wasn’t only that. He owed them money for drugs. He hadn’t delivered. Harry watched, unable to cringe and look away as they cut his stomach open. His intestines fell to the floor in a steaming pile before he collapsed with a silent cry. Then their eyes met and he could only stare.

After the war, he had nightmares about the corpses. The fantastic thing about those corpses that no matter how they had died, they had died from magic. The most gruesome of the deaths involved some blood, but not much. Mutilation came from burning or stinging hexes. They were by far not the prettiest thing to look at, but it wasn’t how the corpses looked. It was the fact that the corpses used to be people he grown to know for so many years. In his nightmares, they’d never talk. Never try to kill him. Those corpses would only stare at him. Their eyes would be the only thing alive and they’d follow him. He’d run from the stares but they’d follow him no matter what he did.

The nightmare about the unfortunate victim of the Aryans had Harry wide awake after a couple of days. The whole body chased him that time and it tried to kiss him. Then the intestines were shoved in his throat by the leader of the pack. Eat up, race traitor, they’d said. He choked until his own stomach burst open and his intestines would fall out.  So Harry was just bit afraid to sleep.

“You look like shit, Potter.”

He jumped as Blaise glared at him. “I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Are we scurred bout the big scary Awyans?”

“I have every reason to be frightened by them. They don’t like that I rejected them. Can’t understand why they don’t harass Malfoy.”

He leaned again his cell door. Ron had decided to join want of the degree programs to his surprise. He guessed it was at Hermione’s insistence. He was done with school. Fuck Muggle education.

“They know I’m fucking him, Potter. It has spread around the prison that pretty Draco Malfoy is the bitch of the grandson of New York’s most dangerous mobster.”

“Are you telling me that’s what I have to do?”

“No, because I sure as hell don’t want to shag you, Potter.”

“I mean,” he began in annoyance. “Do I have to be someone’s lover?”

“Join the Aryans. They love twinks. Makes them feel like men. Or you know, you look like you’d enjoy big black cocks. Plenty of free agents around here that would initiate your pale white arse.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Potter,” he started with a laugh. “The Aryans know not to touch. You have nothing to really worry about. Just do as the Italians say. I’m actually here to invite you to our little party because I’m going to be initiated. You’re to come to the storage room by 7 pm. Unless you want to be fucked in the arse by Aryans--kink it up a bit, if you must.”

“I don’t. I can tell you hate me, although I can’t imagine why. You should know what it’s like for us, Zabini.”

“I don’t have any sympathy for you because I fucking hate you, Potter. I hate your face, your glasses, the missing scar, your terrible hair, and your scrawny arse. Not because you’re a rat. You being a rat is just a plus. You were born to be a rat.”

“I’m just trying to get by!”

“I don’t care. Just show up, you dipshit.”

He stood there, still staring at him and he felt nervous. When they were back in school, Zabini was just unpleasant. Not really threatening. He was a lot taller of course and athletic, but he was usually quiet with his snarky comments. He seemed to think he was too good for anyone or anybody, which is why he was surprised when Draco admitted that he was in love with him and that he knew that Zabini loved him back. When he saw them together, he saw that look in Draco’s eyes. It hurt, but he couldn’t really do anything about it.

There were obviously two sides of him. There was the side that seemed like a decent man; the one who made mistakes and left behind a daughter that he loved despite his unfortunate activities. A man that did a deal to make sure they wouldn’t be killed by any unsavory characters. Then, there was the Blaise Zabini that was psychotic. The Blaise Zabini he’d been informed had smashed someone’s face in tile beyond recognition resulting in a coma for said victim The victim suffered permanent damage and had to have his face reconstructed. The Blaise Zabini who had fourteen skulls hidden in tattoos on his arms to represent the number of lives he was actually proud of taking. And the Blaise Zabini he knew had done something to Draco, because there was a terrible red mark around his neck as if something or someone had tried to pop it off.

He was sure that the Blaise Zabini that was decent would never lay eyes on him again. He’d always get the psycho. Sodding crazy bastard.

“What?”

“Potter, did you follow him here?”

He frowned. “No.”

“Yes you did. Question is why. And I want to know why. Careful, I’ve learned to tell from lies and truths. And a lying rat is not a good look on you.”

“Fine, alright?! I did. I followed Draco here to try to fix my reputation. I got a tip from Astoria and she sent me his way.”

“What’s worse than a lie? A lie hidden within the truth. You’re about to be punched in the face. Hard.”

That was it. Harry stood up from his cot. “Do it Zabini. Stop threatening me and do it,” he said through his teeth. He laughed at him and he felt even more infuriated at being mocked.

“Are going to cast a wandless and soundless spell on me, Potter? I know you can’t fight without your pretty little wand. Little being the operative word in every way that matters.”

“You’re worse than Draco was. Worse than Crabbe and Goyle could have ever been.”

“You are absolutely right. I am far worse. I make them look like Gryffindors in comparison. Don’t try me, Potter. Wandless magic is delayed by seconds.”

He felt the color draining out of his cheeks as Blaise tapped his head. “I was quite the good student. I actually belonged in those classes while you got past by metaphorically sucking the wizarding world’s collective cock.”

“I’m a better wizard than you’ll ever be. It must kill you.”

“My daughter is a half-blood, Potter. Don’t try the pureblood nonsense. It doesn’t work. I’m not Draco.”

Harry got closer. “You’re upset because I was shagging him, aren’t you? That mouth you kiss has been all over my cock.”

There was flash of fury in Blaise’s eyes. “And who knows how many cocks you’ve taken. At this point, kissing Draco despite you being the only other man he’s been with, I’ve probably kissed about a thousand cocks by now.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining Potter. I mean, you’re a walking buffet for all these lonely men here. Seize the day. Get fucked. In fact, how about I just pimp you out to the Aryans? You wouldn’t be my first working girl.”

The guard hit the cage. “Step back, Zabini. You’re too close to Potter.”

He stepped back with a smirk, glancing at the guard as he went back to patrolling. “Want to know what the Aryans call what they did? They call it a Thanksgiving special. Beautiful irony, hmm? You might enjoy it, Potter. At the very least, you must have enjoyed watching how a turkey is prepared.”

Harry’s smug expression disappeared as he stared at Zabini in horror. They’d seen him. Fuck, they’d seen him. He couldn’t help but panic as Zabini’s eyes twinkled with mirth. He said nothing else as he waltzed away, humming some obscure tune that he knew was a Muggle holiday tune.

He fucking hated Zabini. The intense hatred that was growing inside him was overbearing. 

After angrily stewing in his cell for hours, he stalked towards the meeting place. He ran into some Hispanic men and thought nothing of it at first. Then he realized as he passed them that they weren’t friendly faces. In fact, he’d seen the same sort of tattoos on Alvarez. He turned around and there, in all his glory, was Joseph Alvarez. He remembered when first seeing him and taking note how he could have given Draco a run for his money in the looks department. And out of jealously, he believed Draco was sleeping with him. He was looking at the angel of death. He glanced around for help and wondered if Blaise had called off protection.

“We got a hold of one of the faggots. Finally. These white motherfuckers from Britain are fucking slippery,” one of them said as he grabbed Harry by the collar.

“Last time I was in San Quentin, administration informed the prison that the rat problem would be handled. I guess imported rats are harder to get rid of,” Alvarez said in amusement. “Harry Potter. He’s quite the celebrity across the pond. I bet people would pay a bundle for his body parts. Figure out what makes a savior tick.”

He was about to say something, but smoke was blown in his face. “Don’t say a goddamn thing, asshole.”

“What you want, Joseph?”

He stared into his eyes for a moment. “How’s Blaise? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.”

“Who,” he asked with a scowl, doubling over in pain as someone punched him in the stomach.

“Now he wants to play stupid. I’ll ask you again. Next time you get smart, I put out this cigarette or wait--I put out the fag on the fag.”

“You can ask me yourself.”

 Maybe Blaise had enjoyed seeing him suffer for a bit before he stepped in. Whatever it was, he couldn’t believe he was actually happy to see him. “Well, if it isn’t the scary grandson of Geraldo Zabini.”

 “I thought he was Italian?”

“Half,” Alvarez said nonchalantly. “He’s literally the black sheep.”

Blaise rolled his eyes as he addressed him. “Cute. Let him go. He’s with me.”

“You’re fucking him, Zabini?”

He paused, hanging his head before lifting it. “Yes, but in my defense every time I fuck him, I hate him.”

“You’re lying—“

“No honestly, I fucking hate him.”

“Stay out of this, then. This puto testified against me.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he danced on your future grave. I got a bunch of Italians who’d love to enjoy Mexican tonight. Let him go or I’ll personally dance Jarabe Tapatio all over your head.”

Harry sighed in relief as they let him go, shoving him towards Blaise who rolled his eyes so dramatically they could have easily fallen out of his head. He stood behind him, feeling unbelievably helpless and useless. He watched as Alvarez got closer. They were nearly the same height and seeing two scary pricks face off was quite the spectacle. The others came out, watching the scene and waiting for someone to make a wrong move. Ron stood beside him, looking genuinely concern. He gave him a smile that Ron thankfully returned and he was thankful that at the most Ron still cared what happened.

“Are you alright, mate,” Ron asked. Harry rubbed his arm, glancing at a silent Alvarez before answering him.

“I’ll be fine.”

“He’s okay. I just broke your toy a little bit," Alvarez replied.

“You knew we were meeting here, spic," one of the members of Blaise's associates snapped. "You know better than to show your face around our territory.”

“Fuck you and your territory. But you’re right, I knew,” he said softly, staring at Blaise. “You and I have unfinished business, old friend.”

“I don’t think you want it finished, Joe. Eye for an eye would make you blind. I don’t know what your problem with me is—“

“Let’s start with you protecting rats.”

“They’re old classmates and you know very well why I’m protecting them.”

He snorted, glancing at Draco who glared back at. There was something in Joseph’s eyes that recognized him. Then, he knew. Joseph knew about Draco. They weren’t simply former associates. They’d known each other. And by the looks, it got quite personal. That familiar look of brutal jealously flashed in Draco’s eyes.

“Right. Your little whore. You’re really protective over whores. Careful, Zabini. Don’t want to lose another one.”

“If you touch him—“

“Relax, I haven’t been in here that long. Although, he does look girly enough to not have it be uncomfortable.”

There was laughter as some disgusting shit rubbed his tongue lewdly. “Got to agree there. Soft like a girl.”

“Fuck off. And take your dogs with you.”

“Zabini, I’d suggest you stay out of my territory. And Gervani, Mexican Mafia deals,” he said shaking and clucking his tongue. “Big mistake. You’re asking for a lot of trouble.”

He turned on his heel and they all filed away. Their group shook their heads and went back into the room as the four of them remained outside. Blaise looked at him in actual concern.

“They just punched you right?”

“Yes, but I’m alright.”

“You were late, Potter. Meetings’ over for you three. If you do it again, you won’t have to worry about Alvarez.”

“I’m tired of your threats—“

“I’m not threatening you, Potter. This isn’t home, alright? You can’t wave a wand here and throw jinxes to evade mistakes. If you’d paid attention in school, you’d know even with your wands it is very difficult to catch spells with the material used to build complexes like this. Wandless magic is even wonky here.

“I’m protected because my grandfather is gaining power in the States and apparently in the UK as well. I don’t know what he wants with me, but he sure as hell doesn’t give a care about what happens to you. You have thousands of prisoners in here that want to hurt you. You’re race traitors, you’re British, you’re actually pleasant looking, and you don’t belong here.

“So I’m asking nicely. All three of you. Take this seriously. Stop thinking like British schoolboys and grow up fast. No one is safe here. No matter what protection I give you. Time to start thinking differently.”

He left them in the hall to stare at the closed door. Draco didn’t pay them any attention. He simply pushed past them and made his way to his cell. Ron nudged him.

“Let’s go to bed. I’ve got yard duty early in the morning.”

“You mean—“

“Assigned by them. Nothing too bad. Glad it’s nothing really illegal. Just small stuff like weeds, although I don’t know why the hell Muggles would need to buy weeds—“

Harry snorted. “Ron, it’s a drug.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a drug and it’s very illegal in prison.”

“Weeds can be used as drugs?! Holy hell, Muggles are mad!”

“Cannabis,” he said with growing laughter.

“Oh,” he said with a frown. They both stared at each for a moment before laughing and making their way back to their cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments or criticism if you can.
> 
> Also, may post some character art. I'm considering it ;)


	7. Visit Gone None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron learns more about the monster under the bed and a visit from Hermione ends badly

“Where does the furniture go?”

At first, Zabini really didn’t answer him. He had been incredibly snippy that month while Ron tried to adjust to what he was doing. He was a sodding drug dealer. Yeah, it was behind walls and it was to survive, but he was still doing it. Hermione was due to visit any day and he was ashamed. From a respectful wizard with a bustling business to a criminal with a business in shambles. She told him that they were in dire need of assistance; a new ingredient that would solve their problems.

The problem was that since the Ministry’s influence, their finances hadn’t allowed it. He’d ask Harry if his own vault hadn’t been seized as part of the investigation in relation to his connection to Malfoy. Which meant that Hermione was surviving with five children to watch over. They ate with his mum and dad’s help, but that was about it. Even with the new ingredient, it would only make a dent in the steady decline.

Between Zabini and a forlorn Harry (Draco Malfoy was completely out of the question), he felt lonely. Phillip was an alright bloke, but he was part of a clique that Ron didn’t really belong to. None of them really did. Not even Zabini, who he’d learned ran a large area of Staten Island merely over the phone. It was bloody amazing and awful at the same time. If that was just his wayward former classmate, he feared ever meeting the growing tyrant that was Geraldo Zabini.

He’d gotten an affliction for watching the news on the telly to get a hold of some sort of outside world and came across the announcement of the opening of some big Muggle business. The news reporter glossed over Mr. Zabini’s criminal affiliations. Blaise was mentioned briefly and his mugshot flashed in the screen. Even in the picture, probably the least flattering, he managed to look gorgeous. Dare he admit he was a little bit attracted to him? Maybe to himself. Never to anyone else.

When it was mentioned by their leader, Carlos, Blaise shrugged it off.

“Good for him.”

Carlos shook his head and glared at him reproachfully. “Don’t be ungrateful, you little shit. You know how many bastards—“

“I’m not a fucking bastard, Gervani,” Blaise snapped heatedly. “My mother and father were married.”

The greyed Italian with dull brown eyes continued to glare before saying, “You know very well why you’re considered a bastard, kid. What the fuck are you complaining about? Your privileges are growing and your commissary account is doing well isn’t it? You’re getting more respect around here. Stop living in the past.”

While Carlos wasn’t a bad man on the surface, the others that worked for him were. And the racist undertone weren’t unmissed by him. It was something Ron didn’t understand. Racial descent as far as Anglo-Saxon or African was never such a bother in the wizarding world. Not even amongst most of the purest of purebloods. Hell, he knew for a fact that the Malfoys shared plenty of bigoted pureblood contacts that were African and had helped fund the war; just as Gervani had done.

Criminals were so hung up on it all. Prison politics it was called. What a fucking laugh.

“Government programs and companies. You did good work, Weasley. Looks professional.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the tips.”

“It’s no bother,” he murmured, standing back to admire the armoire that he’d finally finished. “Mind helping me move this beauty to the finishing area?”

He nodded, loading it on the trolley as they carefully let it over. Ron almost cast a Bubblehead charm, forgetting where he was. The fact that he couldn’t—it made him miss home so immensely. That feeling filled up his chest and it felt nearly difficult to breathe. Taking a deep breath, grabbed a mask and goggles along with Zabini. He was glanced at sideways for a long while.

“You alright, Weasley?”

“Homesick. I know it’s only been a month—“

“Trust me, it’s not going to go away. Nothing you can do in this shithole is going to stop you from missing home. That’s why we’re in here, after all.”

He paused as he loaded the brush with a cherry stain. It was the sort of stain he liked to use when he worked on projects. Hermione could never quite understand why he enjoyed it when he had plenty of money to buy furniture. She could never understand his love with Wizard’s chess or Quidditch either. He loved Hermione, but it had been easy to fall out of love with her when he discovered that sometimes it was beyond her to understand hobbies that didn’t involve books. Or at least, that is what he saw. She probably could, but the misunderstanding of each other as a whole was why they clashed and couldn’t keep their marriage together.

“Notice how some assholes fit in and how it’s like hell for us? There are people that get arrested just to get back in prison because they have nothing else but being a criminal. To be honest, if it wasn’t for my daughter that would be my mindset.”

“That has to be a terrible life.”

“It’s not ideal. But after a while it becomes who you are. You’re who you are. Family is important to you.”

“It’s important to you too.”

“You overhead the conversation. Of course you’d come to that conclusion.”

“It wasn’t just from that. You’d choose family over riches. And over being a criminal if you had to. Now you don’t think you have to.”

“And how the fuck are you sure?”

He grinned behind his mask. “A good guess. I’m pretty sure of it. I’d put money on it if I had it.”

“You’re having a money situation, Weasley?”

“That’s none of your business,” he murmured. He shrugged in a response and went back to staining. Ron grabbed a brush as well and decided to assist. He gave him a thankful smile that Ron had to appreciate amongst the mostly unpleasant expressions he came across. They worked silently along each other. It was as nice as it could and therapeutic. There was something that interested Ron, however, thinking about Blaise.

“Hermione says that she found an ingredient we can replace with at least half of our products.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but we can’t afford it.”

“Ministry probably has a hand in that too.”

“Probably. Okay, Zabini, something is killing me.”

He paused. “Go on?”

“You’re at least half-black aren’t you?”

“Good observation—“

“How in the hell were you even able to work your way up into the Mafia?”

There was a noise behind the mask that sounded vaguely like a snort. “Noticing that those racist bastards don’t quite like working with me, hmm?”

“Couldn’t help it.”

“Geraldo is pure Sicilian. From a line of purebred, Sicilian wizards. Those type of families are pretty rare considering how in our society purity is more about wizarding blood than any other factors.”

“Why is being Sicilian so important?”

“Without having to give you a history lesson? Sicilians have been through quite a bullshit and still managed to come out on top. We—they represent Italian pride. Which is why it’s Sicilian blood only. There’s a lot more to it, but it’s just nonsense to excuse prejudice...not going to bother.”

“And you being biracial kind of disqualifies.”

“Somewhat. It was the reason why I could never be a real boss, but I could work my way up the ranks throwing around the Zabini name. People respect Geraldo; even bastards of Geraldo. I have a cousin, who is also the son of a bastard but full-blooded Sicilian that is boss in the wizarding fraction. He’s the one getting married to the muggleborn.”

“So the plot thickens.”

“I’m guessing that’s why I’m being turned to. No Muggle to be my wife. Even with a half-blood child, I’m not that much of disgrace. I’m also reportedly a little scarier. Whether if it’s because of my actions or because I’m scary black man remains to be seen.”

“You’re too pretty to be scary, Zabini.”

There was a long silence and Ron felt immediately humiliated that he’d let that just slip out of his mouth. “My mother used to say it was the mixture of my father’s natural good looks and Sicilian blood.”

“You look a lot like your grandfather.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “She said that too.”

He felt his ears about to fly off. It’d been a ridiculous thing to say! He--at first--hoped that Zabini’s vanity would be too caught up in the compliment to catch it. However, he should’ve known better. The one thing he’d learned about Slytherins during his schooling was that most that dwelled in the dungeons seemed to pay close attention to even small details; to things most couldn’t catch. Zabini wouldn’t let it go. He tipped his head to side as Ron avoided the stare.

“Weasley, you just called me pretty,” he said slowly, his hazel eyes sparkling in amusement.

Ron sighed heavily, giving him a glare that only made the grin on Blaise’s face grow. “I did.”

“You didn’t strike me as particularly gay.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were in love with Granger for a long time.”

“I was. I don’t know if I’m gay. More like open to male or female genitals.”

Blaise turned his attention away from him, still a great smile on his face. Ron would think he was used to receiving such compliments. However, it seemed that the comment made him happier. And...did Ron see a tinge of red on his cheeks? It wasn’t so difficult to tell as he’d assume at first, but he was sure that he was blushing.

“Don’t do it again, Weasley. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh right. You’re the monster under the cot--”

“I am.” Blaise took off his goggles, staring at the armoire for a moment and stepping back. “Too bad about that ingredient, Weasley.”

The armoire showed true craftsmanship. It was unfortunate that Blaise had been drug into it all when Ron knew he was not only a competent carpenter, but a brilliant Potions brewer. He’d been sure that he’d come across Blaise Zabini in his shopping for third party Potions Masters. George had hoped for it as well; someone as competent as Malfoy and not as twisted. Prejudices aside, he knew Zabini would have been a good help.

“Would you have aided us then--despite us being blood traitors?”

Blaise pulled his lips. He was being thoughtful about it. There was something endearing about him not outright saying anything just to appease him.

“I would have been difficult. Probably would have said no at first. But the business man in me would have realized that my talents were competent enough to perform a successful turnabout.”

He got closer to him and Ron was surprised that even with just a good dose of soap and water, Blaise smelled good.

“And I would have had bragging rights to say that Ronald Weasley was my bitch,” he whispered in his ear. The guard suddenly appeared out of nowhere, glaring at Blaise who gave him a smug grin before stepping a couple of feet away and getting back to work. Ron shuddered involuntarily, putting on his goggles and swallowing heavily. He was fortunate that Zabini hadn’t noticed that time.

 

* * *

 

 Hermione in the waiting room was a double edged gift. She looked elegant even in jeans and a t-shirt; making most of the women dwarf in beauty when comparing. That was thing about his friend. Hermione didn’t have to have the full aesthetic to be beautiful. The way she carried herself effortlessly was more than enough to keep the eyes on her. Speaking of which, the Aryans rolled their stinky heads nearby to stare.

“That yours, ginger?”

Ron ignored him, giving her a smile as their eyes met. “Mmm, bet her honey tastes like heaven.”

He still wouldn’t pay it attention. There were a couple of them oogling her despite the other women that were dressed a bit more provocatively. She definitely stood out--in a good or bad way depending on how Ron could see it--so he couldn’t blame them for looking. At the same time, the thought of that particularly dirty fuck touching her made him ill. He swallowed down bile.

“Does she live in California--”

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he snapped in annoyance.

“Careful.” He clenched his jaw, looking at the ground as he continued. “Maybe I should give her a little call; tell her you’ve been getting too close to that monkey you’ve cozed up to--”

Ron didn’t even think twice. And he probably should have as he dug his fingers in the man’s skull and smashed his head into the viewing window. He could vaguely hear Hermione screaming his name in horror as the giant he was facing were joined by two others. He kicked him in the face, tackling the one that tried to leap on him from behind as an uproar of loud instigating shouts rang in his ears. He brought up fist and nearly smiled as the sickening crunch followed; scream of shrill pain and shock spilling from his opponent’s mouth.

Before he could deliver another, a flurry of tan drowned him and it had become his turn to yell in pain as he was knocked to the floor. At that point, he knew to stop. The orders being shouted at him were vague and he didn’t care. Only felt satisfaction at seeing the big bad shitstain drooling blood and moaning in pain.

The handcuffs secured, he stared ahead and saw that Hermione had the trademark stamp of reproach on her face. In her head, maybe she thought it’d been in her honor. He felt shame in knowing that it wasn’t just her he’d been thinking about. He returned it, mouthing “I’m sorry” and relieved she received it when she returned a nod before being led away.

Solitary confinement wasn’t a very fun place; he’d known that being tossed in there. The agony was being confined with nothing to do--really nothing do to. When he and Harry had been separated from each other, they’d figured out how to communicate by enhancing glass shards they’d come across in the jail yard. It’d been difficult, but they’d managed and it hadn’t felt so lonely.

Wandless magic didn’t even work there. Most of his time he spent staring at the ceiling and thinking about what he’d done. Why had he lost it? He wasn’t quite sure. Maybe it had something to with Hermione after all. Or perhaps he despised prejudice in any sort of form. Monkey was just another form of mudblood, after all--wasn’t it? It was better than admitting what the truth was.

Sometime, in the middle of the night, Ron felt a familar stirring in his nether regions. At first, he groaned thinking that he’d pissed himself. It hadn’t happened in a very long time, but prison could make one revert back to former behavior. He’d overheard a conversation of one inmate having started to suck his thumb unknowingly and almost getting into an altercation with his bunkmate who’d made a lewd proposition as a result. Pissing one’s self had to be worse.

He jumped when instead of seeing just his crotch there was a head. Pulling the sheet slowly, he noticed the mop of curly hair and yelped in bewilderment seeing Blaise’s mouth wrapped around him. His cock plopped out of his mouth wetly and he was given a wicked grin while straddled.

“Why are you interrupting, Weasley? Did you change your mind about being queer?”

“How the fuck did you get in here?!”

“I have my ways.” Ron watched as he took off his tank, nearly snatching his hand away as Blaise grabbed it and forced him to touch his stomach. “I came from under the bed.”

“Zabini--”

“You don’t want me,” he asked with a pout.

“It’s not that--but--I don’t understand this! How the hell could you even get in here?!”

“Why does it even matter,” Blaise replied calmly, taking Ron’s thumb in his mouth and sucking on it wetly. It felt nice; warm and wet as his blue eyes locked with hazel ones. “You should feel inside, Weasley. Nice, wet, and warm. I prepared it for you.”

“You’re not going to tell me how you got in here, are you,” he asked miserably as Blaise still retained the impish grin and shook his head in reply. “Am I imagining this?”

“You could be. Better hurry before you’re told to--”

“WAKE UP, WEASLEY!”

He yelped, spasming and falling out of bed in shock as the guard’s voice echoed in his cell. Ron stood up immediately, feeling humiliated and using his hands to cup his erection as the guard eyed him in disgust. He swore it was like being in class with Snape again--only a little less humiliating than it had been then. The guard rolled his eyes.

“You have five minutes to get it together.”

“Yes sir,” he muttered, cursing under his breath and taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself down. Blaise had been right. It hadn’t mattered at all.


	8. Draco the Fleshlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco kills time and something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little violent, so if you're squeamish about some violent imagery, here's the warning beforehand. Otherwise, enjoy!

"What are you doing?"

Draco bit back a smile as Blaise worked meticulously at whatever he'd been putting together. He'd been in deep concentration on his day off from chores. If Draco had the choice, he'd be sleeping. The only thing they let him do that wasn't so awful was read. Surprisingly, the prison library had a decent collection of Muggle non-fiction that interested him--particularly the history books on Muggle America. The history was so deliciously bloody he wondered what the wizarding history entailed. That particularly morning, he'd gone towards the library as soon as their slop breakfast was served. He'd come across Blaise messing about with something he made the previous night with a glove, old cot matting, towel, and belt. He was far too curious to hold off the question. 

Instead of answering him right away, Blaise handed it to him. "Put two fingers in it and tell me what you think."

He gave him an odd look before proceeding to do so, grinning as soon as he felt it wrap around his fingers. "Is it--"

"Yes. The charms took forever to take--fucking walls. I would've asked, but it was a surprise. I might make more--of course not for anyone else. Just for us special ones."

"How'd you come up with it," he asked, tossing it back to his lover who tossed it on his bed.

"There's a sex toy called a Fleshlight. Come to think of it, I wish they'd allow it in here--but that's besides the point. Anyway, men use it to masturbate with all the time. The ones I came across were fashioned to look like vaginas, lips, or assholes outside and in."

"That would be useful in here--if you needed it." Draco gave him a small smile that Blaise returned slowly before shoving the thing under his pillow. "But you don't. So why did you spend a great deal of your day making one?"

"It's not for me. It's for Weasley."

"Why?"

"I've felt bad for him. He's been all jumpy since he knocked the stuffing out of those bastards. Call this a present for a job well done."

Draco grabbed it again, playing with the inside and licking his lips as he felt it wrap around one finger. "Feels really good."

"Do you want one--"

"No."

Blaise leaned back, studying him for a while as Draco's erection started to grow as he continued to play with it. He could identify several of the charms he could feel right off; the most obvious one being Conprimo on the areas through the inside. He almost suggested using a Softening Charm to make it feel a tiny bit better, but damned if he'd do anything for going out of his way for Ronald Weasley. Perhaps if Blaise made one for Potter...

He went to hand it back. "Can I have one?"

"Do you want this one?"

Draco nodded, gasping in surprised as he felt a hand slipping into his trousers and tongue touch the tip of his earlobe. "The inside of me can be just as nice though."

He leaned into him,  breathing sharply and hoping that a guard wouldn't ruin their fun time by walking by. The sounds of the prison sort of faded away as soon as Blaise wrapped his hand around him. Draco went to turn out to kiss him but another hand clutched onto his waist. He heard a soft "tsk tsk" nose as a thumb ran over his tip. Any sort of a noise and they'd be caught. Biting his bottom lip, he left out another small breath as Blaise's lips and tongue traced up his neck. The heard a guard talking somewhere far enough, but not close enough. 

"Time to test my skill."

A nibble on his earlobe, he nearly buckled and moaned out as Blaise moved quickly to place his prison made toy on him. He clawed into his hand as it moved up and down; hard not to moan out loud as his cock was warmly embraced and milked.

“Does it feel good, bambola?”

Draco nodded, whimpering as the toy got wetter and just a bit warm. He bucked into it; fucking it with the rhythm of Blaise’s own. There was a teasing chuckle that almost made Draco want to toss away the toy and bend Blaise over himself. He saw it as it moved on him; Blaise being stretched by his cock and saying filthy things as he took him. Or better yet...straddling Blaise and staring into his eyes; claiming him as he’d claimed him. The imagery along with the steady movements of the toy finally brought on his climax. He gave out a silent cry, breathing harshly as the footsteps of the guard came by quickly to their cell. He pulled away, the toy still around him as Blaise slipped past the guard and out of the cell. Draco almost smiled. Bastard.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Hmm,” he asked, smoothing back his hair as he was studied closely.

“You’re sweating--you sick?”

“No sir. I get hot easily--used to the England weather I guess.”

The guard gave him a much deserved dirty look. He wasn’t a fool. However, no proof therefore no reason to push it further. He finally left Draco alone in his cell. Breathing a sigh of relief, he removed the toy from his cock. It did it’s job and the mess he’d made in it remained. He nearly went to wash it, but got it in his mind to see how far he could fuck with Harry Potter’s head.

He’d found him where the prisoners so lovingly named the “gym”. An outside little prisoner playground set that was popular; weight lifting benches, dumbells, and something that was called a Smith machine. Draco enjoyed it, but didn’t lift as much as he could. He enjoyed watching instead. Blaise, for one, was always a pleasure to watch. It was indeed a show as the frilly little queers in the prison would watch with him; along with the brutes that couldn’t have him. To be there amongst them and know that he’d be able to try him out after every session was.

Watching Harry use the Smith Machine was an interesting experience. Pulling himself up and down, Draco could see his muscles at work. His face was red as Phillip and Weasley counted for him, his glasses on the side as he attempted to do just about ten repetitions. It was Blaise’s favorite workout--could Harry be a bit of a copycat? Something about Potter’s obsession with him amused him. It made him want to play with him like a predator with his prey.

He inched over, leaning on and eying him lazily as he finished his reps, breathing harshly and glaring at Draco.

“You look pathetic, Potter.”

“Bugger off,” he replied grumpily, grabbing a towel and walking away from him.

“We need to have a talk--”

“About what?! You ruined my life, you sonovabitch--”

“Me,” he responded incredulously. “Did I ask you to play secret cop, Pothead? No! I wanted to be left alone. And would have been. We’d all be safe and cozy in our beds right now if you had kept your nose out of my business, so fuck you!”

“It isn’t just about us getting arrested, Malfoy! Ever since this thing between you and I, I’ve become a wreck. Look at you...you ungrateful piece of shit--you’d be elsewhere if it weren’t for me and with what you were supposedly doing, it would have been a hell of a lot longer.”

“Were you not pleased with my performance, Potter? I would have  thought you were pleased with the way I made you squeal,” he whispered, looking past him to see Blaise watching them from not too far away. He was jealous. He could see it in his movements and the way he tried to pretend that he was getting ready to work out. As much as he loved to watch Blaise, he was far more interested in what Potter still felt about it.

Fate would have it that guards weren’t paying attention, that no one was around, and that Draco thought that playing around with Potter before he killed him couldn’t hurt at all. There was a wood shop class that was nearby. The door was open from what he could see. Someone being lax in whatever they did.

“Let’s talk privately.” Before he could respond, Draco pushed towards the room and blocked the door before he could go right back through it.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Same here. Let’s just get out our frustrations like old times.”

“Me dueling and kicking your arse.” Draco snorted as he pressed up against him. He didn’t moved, only eyed him with feigned disinterest.

“That’s how you remembered it--”

“Always a better wizard although I’m technically half of one. And you’re just one fourth of me.”

“Nice Potter--there goes that unwarranted self-importance that got you into your former house. Here, none of that matters. Blaise is my king. But you can be my jester.”

He grabbed him, smashing his lips into his. Harry didn’t even put up a fight. There could be all reasons, but he didn’t care. Mr. Potter always had his lips wrapped around his cock. He removed the toy from his trousers, putting it on the desk and pulling them down as Harry picked him up. There was woodcarvings smashed all over him and he almost protested, but his cry was swallowed by another strong kiss.

“How about sucking my cock,” he said against his lips.

“You don’t get that from me, Malfoy. You get a pump and dump--”

“You better fucking lube or I’m going to let Blaise know you marked me. And I don’t think Scary Zabini would like that.”

Harry glared at him, looking at the toy with confusion when he handed it to him. “What is this?”

“It’s a magical sex toy my daddy made for me. Want to play?”

“Don’t be sick--why are you giving this to me?”

“Stick your fingers in it, Harry.”

Rightly so, he was no fool. He grabbed Draco’s finger and stuck it in as he chuckled. _Good job, love_ , Draco thought. The come was still warm and the toy still felt fantastic. He pulled out his finger and shoved it in Harry’s mouth. He glared at him, but cleaned it obediently and thoroughly; his tongue giving one more swipe.

“That could have been mine or Blaise’s.”

“It’s yours, Malfoy.” Harry rolled his eyes, sticking his own two fingers in. “Feels good. I could do better.”

“Of course you, you jealous prat. He came up with it--you didn’t. Give him that.”

“Fuck you and your lover,” Harry muttered, putting out a bit and using his clean hand to clean Draco. He laughed at Potter have to use his finger as a wand for a moment, gasping sharply as his long finger suddenly poked his prostate. “Shut up or I’m going to make it hurt.”

“Stop playing tough, Potter. You’re anything but.” Draco pulled him closely, moaning softly as he penetrated him. “You’ll never be him. He’s better than you in everything. But you can try--try with all your might.”

Harry slammed the toy at the desk, ignoring him and skipping more preparation before shoving himself inside. His cock was a long--not as thick as Blaise’s. And Draco almost said so, but it felt far too good to tease him at that point. Hard for him either way and that was pleasing enough. He grunted as his movements before rougher. Draco hissed, biting his lip as Harry’s jagged nails drug into his thighs. He grabbed him harshly by the hair, forcing him closer as their lips nearly touched. He playfully licked at him, receiving a rougher pounding for the tease and making Draco yell out.

“Fuck--” Draco grabbed around his neck, his eyes falling on a tool left out and not locked. All the circumstances were lined up perfectly. He could do it. It would be Potter’s humiliating end. But the familiar tug of an orgasm stopped him as he came. He grabbed his cock, forgetting the tool and throwing his head back to let out a cry of pleasure as Harry continued to bugger him with great fervor. He shoved his come stained fingers in his mouth and he lost it then, biting down on fingers so harshly he thought they were going to be bitten off. It felt somewhat better than it should have. The combination made him come again just after he pumped into his slowly. Draco watched as Harry sucked on his fingers slowly, his blood and come mixing together to probably create what he imagined to be an interesting taste. All it proved that Potter was just as degenerate and just as kinky as he could be.

He slid off the desk and shakily pulled up his trousers as Harry cast; making them both wince in slight pain. Before he could go, he felt Harry grab his hand softly and rub it.

“Sorry.”

Taken aback, Draco didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to heal it--”

“I’m not stupid. I’m going to. I don’t want to cause any problems with Zabini.”

“You should be scared of him, you know.” Draco sighed deeply, surprise regret clutching around his heart. He watched as Harry--being Harry fucking Potter--healed up his wounds soundlessly but slowly. “I won’t say anything.”

He didn’t respond immediately. He just continued concentrating on Draco’s hand before the wounds finally faded. It was faint, but didn’t look as terrible and it only hurt a bit. He wondered if Potter had did it on purpose. He wouldn’t find out. He left him there alone in the room. It didn’t miss him that the toy was gone.

 

* * *

 

 "So what did you and Potter talk about?"

"Argued some more. I can't stand Potter--"

"Right." He and Blaise sat on the bench outside. There wasn't too many of them out there because of the cold, but they'd cast Heating Charms on their clothing just that once to have some sort of alone time. He was aware that they couldn't use their magic so freely, but it was nice keeping it fresh every so often. From what Blaise had told him, he wouldn't have been able to get away with a lot of what he did without casting charms here and there. Having been so weak in school at them, Draco was impressed that he excelled at them in such a place. Scourgify was something he still couldn't get a hold on. He smiled at the thought as he took a puff at his cigarette, gazing at Blaise as he looked thoughtfully at the prison building.

"Remember how awful you use to be at charms."

"I do," he replied, grinning widely as he looked back at Draco. "I believe it was the reason why I was never part of your little clique. I wasn't extraordinary enough."

"I was a shit."

"You still are, but I like you that way."

Draco looked down at his hand, swallowing heavily at the thought of what he'd done. Whatever monster Blaise had become, he was still somewhat sweet under all of it. There was a part of him that was sad that the proud pureblood Blaise Zabini had been destroyed by his own grandfather and unintentionally his mother. What they had become was death to who they'd been. It was a death Draco had mourned for a very long time. Whereas Blaise didn't even seem to address it. Or at least he didn't address it to him. Phillip came outside, letting out a "WOO" at the burst of cold air that hit him. Blaise sat up in his seat.

"Did you manage?"

"You owe me a lot--"

"I got that, you get the fucking world and more from me--did you get a hold of them for me?"

"Yeah," Phillip said with a nod. "Ron's brother is set up. They're going to be surprised."

"Great." Blaise let out the smoke slowly, a smile on his face. "Remember what I said. Not a word."

"Got it. They don't know my name anyway. Not my money being wasted. Get the fuck out from here, man. People are looking at you two like you're fucking insane."

"We're coming. Thanks again."

He was returned a quick wave as Phillip ran back inside and he stood up along with him, regretfully going inside and sneering at people that gave them weird looks. "What was he referring to?"

"Their shop was struggling so I pulled a couple of strings here and there to get them the ingredient they needed. Hard to--some purebloods don't even know what phones are called," he replied lowly, nodding to some of the Mexican men that he'd been dealing with those days. 

"Why did you go through all that trouble for Weasley of all people--"

"Helping a fellow wizard, Draco. Things have changed--my thought processes has changed. Weasley's a good bloke. Out of all of us, he's the most innocent. And you know it. I felt bad and well--I'm getting out soon. Wouldn't hurt to invest in their store. It's a good one."

"I don't like this--"

"I don't care. Deal with it. If not, go let Potter help you work it out."

Draco stepped back as Blaise pulled in his lips. He looked genuinely hurt. Maybe it should have delighted him even more. However, he only felt more regret at what he did. He went to touch him and Blaise shrugged him off, going in the direction of their cell and not saying a word to him. He rushed away from the rec room as he felt tears falling down his cheeks. The last thing he needed was any of those bastards seeing him crying. It was bad enough that they knew he was Blaise's bitch and soft as it was. He didn't need to be seen any softer. He wandered towards the laundry room. They were so relaxed with their security. Either that or the guards were just as crooked as the others. 

Suddenly, he felt himself being flung inside and was smashed into the wall so hard his nose broke. He let out a cry of pain and immediately went to call for help. The kick to his ribs stopped it. He could only cough and glance up at his attacker. The familiar face didn't miss him. One of Alvarez's men. He chuckled, shoving his trousers down and whipping out his cock. Draco turned his eyes tightly and hugged his ribs in anticipation for another kick.

"You sure are pretty, Malfoy. Almost like a bitch. I wouldn't stick in your ass, but I wouldn't mind getting a little head from that pretty mouth. So open up, pendejo or my fist goes up your ass."

"You can kill me, you sp--"

The kick he'd been waiting for was received. "Don't start, shithead. I may not be able to kill you, but I know something little boy black don't know. And if he finds out you're fucked."

His widened eyes immediately, feeling horrified at the possibility of Blaise finding out about the _other_ secret. Wincing, he got on his knees and immediately opened his mouth for him. The man smirked in victory, shoving it in and grabbing Draco by the back of the head. For a moment, Draco just considering giving him his head and leaving it at that. However, it kept repeating.  _I know something little boy black don't know. If he finds out you're fucked._

_IF HE FINDS OUT YOU'RE FUCKED._

_IF BLAISE FINDS OUT, HE'LL HATE YOU. FORGET KILLING YOU--HE'LL **HATE** YOU._

Viciously, he bit down and pulled, scrambling away the idiot probably hadn't figured he could do it to him. Draco nearly choked on it, grabbing the edge and pulling it out among the shrill screams filling the room. Panicked, he remembered the tool he swiped from the woodworking shop and jammed it into his ear multiple times. He didn't wince as the blood hit; not expecting to be so careless in what he was doing. He finished up, standing up and dropping the tool to look at the mess he'd caused. He jumped when someone entered the room, relief and tears flooding him as Blaise embraced him.

"Are you okay?!" He cradled his face and Draco felt himself sobbing just out of relief. Blaise must've taken it as fear of what he'd done. "We'll fix it alright?! We're going to fix it. I'm promise, love. Fuck, I was worried!"

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, smiling when he heard the words of genuine love pour out. Even so...maybe limited excursions with Potter wouldn't hurt at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get prison culture as best as I can, but let's say it's bit more fantasy than real life. ;)


End file.
